Family Feud
by Jennaya
Summary: Allied Command wants the heroes to kidnap an English traitor, who turns out to be from Newkirk's past before he passes information to the Germans. How will Newkirk handle the situation? Can his mates keep him from committing cold-blooded murder?
1. Chapter 1

**Family Feud**

**By**

**Jennaya**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:

All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of CBS and Ryscher Entertainment. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

* * *

"Colonel Hogan, the krauts just brought in a Lieutenant. He's being taken into Klink's office now," Garlotti said standing in the doorway of the barracks. He'd been outside tossing a ball with Reynolds.

"Better see what our host has in store for him." Hogan stood up from the common table walked over grabbing his jacket and cover from the back of his door, put them on, then left the hut. He lazily walked across the compound confident the lieutenant would hold his own with the Kommandant for a few minutes. Hogan entered the building closing the door to the Kommandantur behind him smiling at Hilda. "He busy?" he pointed at Klink's door.

"With a new prisoner," she purred at him. "How do you always know what he's up too?"

"Lucky I guess," he winked at her as he crossed the room knocking on the closed inner office door. Not waiting for an answer he barged inside, "New prisoner?"

"You're not invited," Klink sounded exasperated.

"As the Senior Prisoner of War Officer, I'm always invited to any interrogation of my men." Hogan stood beside the Lieutenant and offered his hand. "Colonel Robert Hogan, welcome to the …."

"The toughest prisoner of war camp in Germany, where there's never been a successful escape. And there never will be. For you the war is over. Resign yourself to your new reality. Now Lieutenant, what airbase were you stationed at?" Klink interrupted the introductions.

"Smith, Oliver, Lieutenant, 796824."

Hogan stood beside the Lieutenant sizing up the obviously sleep deprived man.

"That information I have. What I need is the location of your airbase."

"Smith, Oliver, Lieutenant, 796824."

"You will give me the information I need," Klink tossed the Lieutenant's paperwork down on the desk in an attempt to appear mean failing miserably.

Despite his best effort, Smith smirked at the Kommandant's actions.

"You dare laugh at a German officer? You'll spend a week in the cooler to learn discipline," Klink was incensed.

"Kommandant, he didn't mean to come off flippant. He's new and doesn't know you as we do. Plus he's tired and I'd bet hasn't eaten in a long time. Under such duress, a man is likely to do things he normally wouldn't. It won't take him long after some rest and food to learn you're a man not to be trifled with, but to be shown the utmost respect. I bet he's already learned his lesson," Hogan gave the Lieutenant a look that said to play along. Smith nodded almost imperceptibly understanding the orders.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry Colonel. It won't happen again. I hope you'll forgive my lack of military courtesy."

"Well," Klink wasn't quite mollified.

"We all know you're a strict disciplinarian, someone to be respected, but you're also a great humanitarian. Allow me to take the Lieutenant to the barracks and I'll ensure he knows what is expected of him all the time," Hogan said trying to come up with what else might swing Klink to do as he wanted.

"I'll forgive the infraction this once. However, I want it clearly understood if there's another breach of conduct, the cooler time will be doubled," Klink said shaking a finger at the Lieutenant.

"I understand, sir. It won't happen again," Smith said with a straight face, his blue eyes imparting respect for Klink taking his cue from Colonel Hogan.

"See to it that it doesn't. He's assigned to Barracks Two. Dismissed," Klink said. Smith gave Klink a sharp salute, while Hogan hastily tossed off a halfhearted one.

Both men left the building heading towards Barracks Two. "Thank you sir, for keeping me out of the cooler."

"It's all part of the service, but not always possible. When were you shot down?"

"About four days ago, I think. What day is it?"

"Friday. Rough interrogations?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle, sir. Knew my name, rank, and serial by heart and so do the Jerries now," Smith smiled trying to hide a yawn.

"Good man," Hogan had taken an instant liking to the younger man. As he opened the door to the barracks added, "You'll be bunking with me."

Newkirk was playing cards and didn't bother to look up at the two men entering the barracks.

"Just like a limey not to notice officers," Smith said.

Newkirk looked up replying with a poker face. "Nothing to notice about 'em. How did ya get to be an officer? Did you steal those clothes from some poor bloke leaving him shivering and naked?"

"Nope. Earned it the old fashion way."

"Well don't expect me to go saluting or any such nonsense," Newkirk walked over next to the new man.

"I'd faint dead away if you did," Smith had twinkle in his eye.

"Then I might have to just to see you pass out on the floor," Newkirk replied with a huge grin. The two men hugged each other warmly.

"I take it you know each other?" Hogan asked dumbstruck at the conversation. Newkirk wasn't typically so insubordinate.

"Yes, Gov'nor. Smitty and I go way back. What are you doing here?"

"Rescue mission."

"Typical Yank. Don't you know if you're rescuing someone, you're not supposed to get captured?"

"Sorry ol' chap, not here to rescue you. However, once my mission is complete, be happy to take you back to London with me. Interested in getting back into the fighting?"

"Newkirk gets into enough trouble around here," Hogan said.

"From the briefing Colonel Forbes gave me on your unit sir, I believe you. You'll need this," Smith pulled a folded paper from his flight jacket pocket handing it to Hogan.

Hogan unfolded the paper looked at it, then handed it to Kinch to decode. Kinch opened the newest codebook, deciphering the code in what would looked like a 'Dear John' letter from the Lieutenant's girl to the casual observer, once completed gave the paper back to Hogan. After reading the message, he addressed the rest of the men in the barracks. "Give us some space fellas." Everyone except his core team hurriedly left the hut; Olsen took charge making sure the Germans didn't walk in on the pow-wow. "All right Lieutenant, you're legit. What's this about?"

"Actually it's Major. As I said, a rescue mission and I'm going to need your help sir," Smith unsuccessfully tried to stifle another yawn.

"Sit," Hogan said pointing to the common table wondering how the man was able to stand. "Let me make introductions to the rest of the team. Carter our explosives expert, Kinch our radioman and my second in command, and LeBeau chef and dog handler," he pointed to each man.

"Nice to make your acquaintance gentlemen," Smith sat down rubbing hands over his tired face forcing his eyes to stay open as his stomach let loose a loud growl.

"How long has it been since you've had any sleep or food?" Newkirk asked genuinely concerned for his friend sitting beside him.

"If this is Friday, I haven't slept since bailing out of a plane on Tuesday. But sleep can wait, the mission is critical," Smith rubbed the palm of his hands over his tired eyes.

"Here, this will help," LeBeau handed him a cup of steaming coffee and a sandwich.

"Thanks," Smith smiled taking a drink from the mug afterwards biting into the first food he'd seen in two days.

"Rough trip through the Dulug?" Kinch asked sitting next to Hogan.

"A Captain thought he'd make Major out of my interrogation. Was he wrong," Smith smirked quickly finishing off the sandwich.

"What's your mission?" Hogan asked sitting across from the newcomer.

"The Gestapo have a man whom must be retrieved before he talks. He has information on an initiative that's so secret…I can't even tell you anything about it."

"Boy that sounds serious," Carter said eyes wide in anticipation.

"It could mean the difference in the war's outcome. If the Jerries get the information, the war might drag on much longer if not cost the Allies the entire war. My mission is to retrieve him and find out what information he's given out at any cost. If necessary, lethal solution has been authorized," Smith said watching the shock in everyone else's eyes.

"London can't be bloody serious authorizing killing a man if we can't get him out!" Newkirk stood up pacing around the hut.

"If he's in Gestapo hands, it might be a mercy killing," LeBeau said leaning against the bunk bed frame near Hogan's door.

"I doubt that, this man is a traitor. He's most likely being treated well."

"A traitor?" Newkirk was infuriated. "Let me get me bloody hands on him. I'll make him talk then give him what he's got coming."

"Oui, I'll help!"

"Gees, it'll be easy if the Gestapo have him. All we have to do is make a call, write up fake orders, put on Gestapo uniforms, then go pick him up at Gestapo Headquarters in town," Carter said.

"You think this will be that easy?" Smith asked incredulously thinking nothing was ever that easy.

"Why not?" LeBeau shrugged his shoulders. "We've done it before and have a contact."

"You have a contact in the Gestapo. What is he a low level clerk?"

"Nope, a Captain and he's been helpful in the past," Newkirk said lighting up a cigarette.

"A traitor," Smith looked at Hogan questionably.

"Wouldn't call him a traitor, although the Gestapo might. He's a patriot who loves his country, but not the ruling powers. He's been helpful in several situations and if possible, he'll do what he can. We need to be mindful of the position he's in, since he knows the full extent of our operations," Hogan explained.

"Yeah, no one thinks anything about seeing him in our tunnels. If you're down there, don't be concerned if a blond Gestapo Captain is hanging out," Carter said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Smith shook his head in utter amazement, "Colonel Forbes did say you had an interesting organization."

"What can you say about this man?" Hogan asked understanding the man's shock.

"He's an RAFP Corpora…."

"You can't be bleeding serious? Royal Air Force Police Bobbie turned traitor?"

"Afraid so, ol' chap. He was on detail to ferry plans between the British and the Americans. Seems he started making noises about believing the Nazi propaganda and was relieved of duty until an investigation could be concluded. Two weeks later, important information was being couriered from one location to the next when they were ambushed. Two police officers were killed in the attack. One lived long enough to identity the Corporal as the attacker." He stopped taking a long drink of the coffee. "The satchel taken has troop movements and strengths in it, so it's imperative the information is retrieved. We think he would use it as a bargaining chip and not outright hand it over to the Germans. Last intel had him heading in this direction, but now that's at least a week old. He could be anywhere in Germany at this point," he stopped gathering the words to continue.

"The information contains D-Day plans," Carter tossed out making everyone turn towards him. "I'm right aren't I?"

Smith looked at him in shock, even though he was exhausted he'd been careful in his description. How had the sergeant guessed correctly?

"Don't answer that Major. Carter, no more questions or guessing along those lines. That goes for everyone," Hogan ordered. "What else can you tell us about him?"

"Where did the intel come from?" Kinch asked.

"A well-placed source," he stopped looking over at Newkirk with sadness in his eyes then sighed heavily dreading telling the next part of his story. "We tracked him down in London and nearly had him cornered in the East End but he gave us the slip. He was the most hunted man in England, even his own sister was helping to lead the search."

* * *

"Scotty, what are you doing?" She asked coming into the room knowing this was where her errant brother always hid.

He turned angry eyes towards his sister continuing to stuff paperwork into the briefcase. "I have to leave. How did you find me?"

"You always came here as a kid when you were upset. Please tell me what's going on. The things people are saying can't be true."

Scott looked at his older sister, always the do-gooder, trying to take care of people. He'd tried to make her understand that England was on the wrong side of this war, but nothing worked. Unfortunately, she fought for the wrong country. Glancing back at the paperwork, he wouldn't let it be taken away this close to his goal.

"Talk to me. You're scaring me."

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"Germany. I have to leave now or I'll miss my chance."

"No, you can't go. I'll tell the authorities."

He didn't say anything, and with an exaggerated sigh reached into his bag pulling out a gun. "I'm sorry you feel that way." He shot her in the stomach watching as she fell where she stood. He leaned down kissing her forehead whispering, "I'm sorry, goodbye," before he took off into the night.

Using all of her strength, she pulled herself up, tore a pieced of her skirt off binding the wound, and slowly made her way out of the abandoned waterfront factory. She walked nearly a half of a kilometer before reaching a checkpoint looking for her brother. Major Smith saw her coming and ran to her. With her dying breath, she told him her brother's plans to swap the information for safe harbor in Germany.

* * *

"What's the man's name?" Hogan asked.

"Nottington. Scott Nottington." Then turning towards Newkirk he said, "Peter, I'm sorry. Rita* is dead."

Newkirk couldn't believe his ears. It couldn't be true his mind screamed. His legs felt like wet noodles as they gave way, and he sank to the floor landing on his arse. His eyes burned like fire with hot tears streaming down his face, barely able to get a word out, "_Rita_."

* * *

* Newkirk states Rita Nottington is his girlfriend in the episode _Is There A Traitor In The House._ I thought she deserved a story.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry," Carter said as he knelt beside his friend who appeared to be in shock.

"Me too, mon ami," LeBeau said gently, sitting next to Newkirk.

Newkirk didn't respond as tears continued to pour down his face prompting Carter to put a hand on his shoulder. "Peter."

The Englander suddenly seemed to realize people were around, and pushed Carter's hand from his shoulder. "Leave off," he said sharply standing up abruptly and storming out of the barracks.

Carter opened and closed his mouth in shock. "I can't believe he did that. Doesn't he understand we want to help? I'm going to make sure he's okay."

"Give him his space," Smith said grasping Carter's arm stopping him from leaving. "It's a hard thing for a man to accept."

"Begging your pardon sir, but I've never seen him like this before, and I've seen him in nearly every mood possible. He needs his friends right now," Carter argued pulling his arm away.

"I've seen him like this before. He'll be back when he's dealt with the initial grief in private. He knows you care and are here for him. And he'll need your friendship and support when he's ready to accept it. Peter's an intensely private person and most likely embarrassed anyone saw his tears."

"How and when have you seen him like this?" LeBeau asked suspicious of the newcomer. Newkirk was their friend, and they knew better than an outsider did in what he needed.

"The first time he lost a loved one. If he wants to tell you the story he will, but I won't break his confidence," Smith said trying to stifle another yawn.

"Newkirk doesn't like officers much except for le Colonel. Why are you so different?" LeBeau asked on the verge of insubordination.

"LeBeau," Hogan said with a bite to his tone.

"It's all right," Smith chuckled. "We met about fifteen years ago before I became an officer. Peter doesn't hold it against me for becoming an officer mostly. The important word there being _mostly_. He's had a few bad experiences and I don't hold it against him either."

"That's a story I'd like know. How you met each other," Carter asked still wondering if he should go after his friend.

"Later. He needs rest right now," Hogan ordered equally worried about Newkirk but had a command responsibility to the new man. "Our room is in here." He led Smith into the private room. "The lower bunk is yours. When you wake up, we'll get you settled. Any messages for London? They'll be on the air in a couple of hours."

Smith took his leather bomber jacket off hanging it on the back of the chair. "Please tell them I made it and see if there's any updated information. Sir, I'm not putting you out taking the lower bunk am I?"

"Nope, prefer the upper one. I'll make sure London is informed."

"Awesome, I never got use to an upper bunk," Smith smiled grateful for not having to climb up top.

"Get some rest. If you need anything somebody will be around," Hogan said then left the room closing the door. He went to the sink filling a canteen with water then returned slowly opening the door to his room. Smitty stood in the middle of the room, his shirt off, inspecting the deep red and purples bruises covering most of his rib cage. Hogan didn't want to intrude but needed to know what happened. "From the bailout or interrogations?"

Smitty, who hadn't heard the door open, jumped, turned around surprised and embarrassed. "Interrogations, but it's nothing, sir." He wanted to reach for his shirt but the movement would have been too painful and too little too late.

"Anything broken?"

"Don't think so."

Hogan eyed him carefully making an assessment of the injuries; fortunately, the Lieutenant didn't appear to have any difficulty breathing. "We have a medic who'll check you out later." The look on Smitty's face made Hogan add, "And it's not negotiable."

"Yes sir. If Newkirk wants to talk, tell him he can wake me," deep concern for his friend showing in his eyes.

"Will do," Hogan placed the canteen on the footlocker by the bunk which doubled as a nightstand then left the room. He had no intentions of allowing anyone to wake the man unless unavoidable, not even for evening roll call. Hogan remembered the extreme fatigue he felt after his initial interrogations which lasted much longer than Smith's had. He fingered a sore spot on his own ribcage that never seemed to completely heal even after a year and a half of captivity. Of course, their extracurricular activities might have kept the spot agitated. A place which Wilson was fond of checking every time anything happened to the Colonel, much to his chagrin. "No one disturbs the Lieutenant without my approval. Is that understood?" Most of the occupants of the barracks had returned each answering affirmatively.

"Sir, what about Newkirk? I mean he doesn't need to be alone right now," Carter asked worry shining through his eyes.

"Give him his space. He'll come around, but if you want, you can keep an eye on him in the compound. Just let him have the privacy he needs for now. Olsen, tell Wilson he has a patient to check out when the Lieutenant wakes up, and get him a Red Cross new prisoner kit."

"Yes sir," Olsen answered as he left the hut.

"Smith didn't say anything about being injured. Is he all right?" Kinch asked. He, like Hogan, had taken a liking to the man especially when he wouldn't talk behind Newkirk's back.

"Typical officer interrogation methods. He'll be fine," Hogan said then added. "Tell me when London is on the air."

* * *

Newkirk stormed out of the barracks not truly angry with Carter, but he desperately needed time alone to grieve. Rita's death shook him to his core. Dead. The word nearly stripped his mind. She couldn't be dead, not his favorite fan-dancer. Smitty had to be wrong. A tear slipped from his eye rolling down his cheek, which he didn't even try to brush it away. Right now, he needed a place to be alone, so made his way directly to the delousing station not responding when anyone tried to speak with him along the route. He easily picked the lock on the door, entered, and then locked the door from the inside ensuring his privacy. Not bothering to turn a light on, he sat on the bench, his elbows on his knees holding his head in his hands allowing the tears to flow. Sometime later, the tears stopped; he took a handkerchief from his pocket blowing his nose and wiping his eyes.

Rita was dead, the words played back in his mind. They had grown up together on the same street. She was the first girl he'd ever kissed, and later the first girl he'd made love too. Both virgins until the night after her fifteenth birthday, neither knew exactly what they were supposed to do, but figured it out pretty quickly. They weren't ever exclusive, each dating others throughout High School, but she held a special place in his heart as one's first always will. At one time, he considered asking her to marry him, but then the war started and he thought marriage wouldn't be fair to her if he died in the war. Since he'd been a POW, Rita wrote him every single week, sometimes twice a week. Mavis and his mum wrote him, but not with the frequency of Rita. Each mail call had at least one and usually several letters from her. She'd tell him about what went on in London and her life keeping him abreast of the neighborhood news. Who was stepping out on whom, who was knocked up by whom, and who'd been nicked. The most ordinary news he'd likely have learned in the local pub talking with his mates, which gave him a connection to home for which he was immensely grateful. Not all of her letters contained ordinary gossip, some he never shared with his mates in camp because they were what he held onto when he needed to feel loved and that he mattered in this world. He laughed imagining the censors blushing reading those letters, and often wondered if a few hadn't been hijacked fueling daydreams about the redhead who wrote letters which made Newkirk blush occasionally. Letters, which filled his dreams with desire making him long to be with her and make the words in the letters come true. He couldn't imagine life without Rita in his world.

Scotty killed Rita. Anger burned through his veins at the news. Scotty had never been normal, but he was the little brother that liked to tag along and Rita loved him so Newkirk put up with the lad. He'd known since the kid turned six years old that he was trouble. At his sixth birthday party, a kid brought a present which Scotty didn't like, so he bit him as punishment. The bite took a chuck of flesh out of the boy, which couldn't be closed up with stitches due to the size and severity. Now Newkirk wasn't a saint by any means, but Scotty seemed off and different. He enjoyed being cruel, laughing about what he wanted to do to small animals and younger kids. When he was eight years old and Rita twelve, she heard the family dog crying out in pain. She opened Scotty's bedroom door finding him cutting the dog open with a kitchen knife. Hearing Rita's screams, her parents came running. Horrified, their dad beat Scotty for killing the dog. Meanwhile Rita held the dog in her arms as it died. She'd loved that animal and had rescued him from a storm cellar before his eyes had opened hand raising him. Scotty's curiosity was to see the internal organs of the dog and cared nothing about the animal dying. Newkirk remembered holding Rita as she wept for her dog. He never understood why the kid killed the animal, but they soon learned no animal was safe around Scotty. It broke Rita's heart to never be able to have another pet.

Shortly after Scotty turned thirteen; a younger child was found murdered in the neighborhood cut open like the dog had been. Although unable to prove it, Newkirk always believed Scotty killed the child. The murder remained unsolved to this day. Afterwards, Scotty seemed to straighten up somewhat because Rita was determined he wouldn't turn into hoodlum. She spent all her time working with her brother so he'd learn compassion, which Rita had in spades. She loved people and animals. If anyone could have turned her brother around it was Rita, but obviously, it didn't work. Scotty and Rita were as opposite as possible for siblings. He learned to hide his desires as he grew older saying he wanted to join the Bobbies. Most of the kids they ran with thought that made Scotty a traitor.

Now Scotty had killed Rita ruthlessly and truly turned traitor. Newkirk clenched and unclenched his fists, the news being more than he could handle.

This was one assignment from London which Newkirk intended to ensure succeeded. Once the information was safe, he would get revenge for Rita. One way or another, he would kill Scott Nottington with his bare hands carrying out the lethal solution orders. He stood, unlocked the door, then left the delousing station; it was time to find the bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

Carter found Newkirk walking through the compound approaching him cautiously, "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry about Rita."

"Thanks," Newkirk put his hands in his jacket pocket.

"How come Scott came to this area?" Carter asked unsure what to say his best friend.

"I have no idea. Just glad he is or I'd ruined Klink's perfect no escape record."

"What do you mean?" Carter asked confused as the men walked slowly back toward the barracks.

"Because I'd left to track him down anywhere in the world and no one or nothing would have stopped me," he said with a dangerous edge to his voice. "I mean no one. When we find Scott, he better hope to never be left alone with me."

"You don't mean that."

"I don't?" Newkirk turned facing Carter with murderous intent in his eyes.

Carter swallowed hard. "No. You're hurt and that's understandable. But the Newkirk I know wouldn't kill a man outright unless it had to be done for the war. We have to get the documents back and make sure the Germans remain in the dark about that mission."

"Yes we do," Newkirk started walking back to the hut. _But afterwards_. Carter thought he knew Newkirk so well; there simply were things the naïve young man didn't understand. This wouldn't be the first time Newkirk killed as Carter described. If he remembered correctly, the man's blood was warm and took forever to remove from his skin. He spent hours in the shower long after the hot water quit never feeling the sting of the cold water. That man also took someone Newkirk loved dearly. Scott Nottington's days were severely numbered.

They walked into the hut as Kinch climbed over the bunk bed frame, then hit the side of the upper bunk bed closing up the tunnel entrance. "How are you doing Newkirk?" Newkirk shrugged his shoulders. "If you need anything, I'm here."

"We all are. Anything you need?" Hogan asked exiting his office.

"Let's find the bastard that's all we can do for now."

"London doesn't have any additional information but will call us if anything breaks. Spoke with Bluebird and he's going to check around then come out tonight with what he finds," Kinch said taking a seat at the table.

"Keep me informed."

"Where's Smitty?"

"Asleep."

"Good. He needs rest. If you'll excuse me there's something I need to do," Newkirk said as he walked over to his footlocker, opening the chest, and then pulled out Rita's letters. He removed the false bottom retrieving the letters which he didn't share with his mates, secured the hidden panel, and then closed the chest. Afterwards he hopped up on his bunk rereading her letters.

The day passed slowly with Newkirk not interacting much with his teammates, he read every letter from Rita multiple times not always successful in holding the tears back. No one said anything pretending not to notice, but under the watchful eyes of LeBeau and Carter not a tear was missed.

The German imposed bedtime forcing the lights to be turned off was an hour earlier, but the men weren't in their bunks, instead showing Smitty around the tunnels.

"I'm impressed," Smitty said as they left Carter's lab and entered the wardrobe area. He browsed through their array of German uniforms. "You have enough resources, have you ever considered marching into Berchtesgaden taking out Hitler or the German General Staff?"

"Heck, we nearly took out the General Staff a few months ago," Carter said with goofy grin.*

"You're kidding? What happened?" Smitty was astounded.

"Complications," Newkirk said.

"Oui, like me nearly being blown up!"

"Only because my feet wouldn't fit in the trundle," Carter defended himself.

"The mission had to be scrubbed for several reasons," Hogan stopped the bickering before it went into overtime.

"Too bad," Smitty shook his head. Colonel Forbes didn't prepare him for how extensive the operation truly was. The tour completed, the men made their way back to the radio room as Bluebird came walking in from the exterior tunnel. Smitty wanted to reach for a gun seeing the Gestapo uniform, but relaxed a little witnessing the warm greeting the men had for the German.

"I'm Captain Fuchs and you must be Lieutenant Smith," Bluebird held a hand out to the newcomer.

"Please to meet you," Smitty said shaking his hand. _I think _he thought privately not sure, if he trusted the Gestapo agent.

"Where you able to find out anything?" Hogan asked as they all sat on stools encircling the radio room.

"Perhaps. Can you describe this man?"

Smitty looked over at Newkirk and Hogan before answering needing to ensure it was safe to give intel to the enemy. Both men gave him a nod. "Just under six-foot tall, curly dark blond hair. Last I saw, he had a moustache."

"There is an Englishman new to the area that arrived four or five days ago. He was escorted by the German underground in London to the head of the underground here in Germany. We don't know who that person is."

"And if it is the same person. Once we flip him, we can destroy the German underground in England and their backup support here," Hogan said shaking his head.

"It'd be a two-fer," Carter said.

"Even if it's not the same man, shouldn't we try to take both anyway?" LeBeau asked.

"Not sure we have the resources. We could pull in people from the underground, have plenty of room to keep them both locked up here. What do you think, sir?" Kinch said.

"Have you seen this person?" Hogan asked looking directly at Fuchs.

"Nein, but I do have a low quality photograph," Fuchs reached into his jacket pulling out an envelope. He removed the picture handing it to Smitty.

Smitty looked at the picture, shook his head, and handed it to Newkirk. "That's bloody hell him all right. Damn collaborator." Adrenaline surged throughout his body making his hand shake slightly examining the photo. He wanted to shred the paper doing serious harm to Scott.

"What about the security around him?" Hogan asked.

Fuchs grinned widely, "We've been ordered to ensure his safety until a special escort from Berlin arrives Monday."

Smitty whistled, "That's a good piece of luck."

"Maybe," Hogan said standing and pacing around the room with his arms folded around his waist. "What trouble will be caused for you if he disappears?"

"The Abwehr are supposed to escort him to Berlin, but if a special Gestapo envoy arrived Sunday with all the correct documentation nothing would happen. And Sunday night, Hochstetter will be busy," Fuchs said.

"Who is Hochstetter?"

"His boss and 'e wouldn't think nothin' of shooting all of us. Definitely not on the right side of the war."

"Sounds like someone we want to keep busy," Smitty said.

"Definitely. Would the guards check in with Hochstetter?" Hogan asked.

"Ja. Hochstetter will be at our house as Lilly is fixing dinner and we're celebrating Fraulein Lisal's birthday**. We expect him to propose to her Sunday night. I'll intercept the call and make sure everything goes off as planned."

"What about guards? How many will there be?"

"Three guards including Lieutenant Kohl***, who is an obnoxious little bastard. When he turns the man over to the wrong people, perhaps I'll finally be able to send him to the Russian Front. As you Americans say, two birds one rock."

"What if he gets out of hand?" Smitty asked concerned with the plan.

"I'm confident Rob can handle the situation."

"Where are they keeping him?" Kinch asked.

"In the hotel above the Hauserhoff, room 212," Fuchs pulled out a sheet of paper from the envelope passing it over to Hogan. "That's all the details including the passcode for releasing him."

"Thank you. Is there anything else we should know?"

"Nein, that's all the information I have."

"There's one thing that's not clear to me," Newkirk said. Fuchs gave him a quizzical look. "Why is that bird still dating Hochstetter? You said she was a good looking bird, and Hochstetter is no catch."

Fuchs laughed, "A question many people ask. For unknown reasons, she is quite taken with him and has eyes for no one else. Although, several suitors have tried to turn her head."

"Isn't there always someone for everyone," Carter said.

"Oui, but Hochstetter? Who could stand to get close to a man with no heart?"

"Love doesn't always make sense," Kinch said shaking his head.

"Thank you for the information and if anything changes, keep us informed," Hogan said as he stood walking Bluebird out the tunnel. Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter went back upstairs.

Smitty prevented Newkirk from going topside with the rest of the men since they were alone for the first time since he had arrived. "How are you doing?"

"Best I can."

"Yeah. I'm so sorry. If I'd known what she was going to do, I'd never let her out of my sight."

"It ain't your fault and I don't blame you. Rita had a mind of her own and nobody could have stopped her. She sure as hell knew how to keep a secret."

Smitty nodded his head; the guilt he felt wouldn't be resolved so easily, Newkirk not blame him for Rita's death helped ease some of the heartache.

"When we find him, Scott ain't goin' back to London alive no matter what the Gov'nor wants."

"I didn't expect him too, but this isn't the backstreets of London."

"No. However, accidents happen in war. Besides, London's authorized a lethal solution, so with the right report they'll be happy to close the entire matter."

"I have your back anyway this plays out. Nonetheless, the information must be secured before either of us has a go at him. Way too many lives at stake."

"I understand and agree. But I will choke the life out of him with me bare hands," the cold hatred on Newkirk's face showed he meant every word he said.

"What are your thoughts on the _Captain's _plan?" Smitty still didn't trust the German.

"Fuchs is a good man and I've worked with him on several jobs. He's good to his word and can be trusted."

"But he's a damn Nazi!"

"Something you don't learn while flying high in the air about the war is there are two types of people in Germany. Nazis and ordinary citizens who want their country back, and fight within the underground. Fritz is no Nazi. He's laid his life on the line more than once to protect us. And he has a wife and kid that would be murdered if they found out he's helping us. He walks a very fine line."

"What do you think he does while he's at work wearing that pretty black uniform?"

"His damn job and brings out great intel that we've sent off to Allied Command many times. Fuchs will reconcile his actions within own his soul when the war is won. He is trustworthy. I'd place my life in his hands without hesitation."

Smitty paced around the small room for a few minutes thinking quietly before answering, "If you trust him that's good enough for me."

Newkirk nodded his head. "Let's go up top and get some rest."

Hogan heard the entire conversation staying far enough back in the tunnel so the men didn't realize he was listening. Scott Nottington had to make it back to London alive if at all possible despite Newkirk's declaration. He was more valuable alive so they could retrieve as much information about the German underground as possible. The bond forged between Newkirk and Smith was bound by something he knew neither man could ever discuss and completely unbreakable. Pacing around the radio room, running a hand through his hair, Hogan needed to find a way to ensure neither man killed the traitor.

* * *

* Episode – An Evening of Generals

** Lisal is from my stories Code Name Angel and The Aftermath: Hochstetter's story.

*** Kohl is from my story Shades of Family and thinks Fuchs is in league with Papa Bear.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday morning after breakfast, Wilson came out of the Colonel's room closing the door behind him allowing Smitty to get dressed. Hogan stood near the stove and raised an eyebrow expecting a report. "He took a hellva beating, but nothing's broken. His lungs are clear and there are no signs of infection setting in anywhere. He'll be sore for a while and have restricted range of motion until those bruises heal. I'd suggest limited duty for a week or so, but as long as he tolerates an activity, he should be fine."

"By this time next week, hopefully he'll be back in London if all bodes well. Thanks for checking him out," Hogan said.

"Anytime sir. If you need anything else I'll be in the infirmary," Wilson smiled and left the barracks.

Smitty came out of their room, walked over to the coffee pot pouring a cup. Next, he sat at the table beside Newkirk.

"You've known each other for a long time," Carter said receiving nods from both men. "How did you meet?"

"Oui, that's a story I'd like to hear also."

"Count me in too," Olsen said hopping down from his bunk and taking a seat at the table.

"Not sure I can tell the story it might embarrass me mate," Newkirk said with a grin and devious eyes.

"Then it's definitely a story worth hearing," Kinch said as he put away the cards he'd been playing with Baker.

"What do you think?" Newkirk asked looking at Smitty with obvious full intentions of tell at least part of the story.

"Go ahead," he sounded resigned and gave permission with a wave of his left hand.

"The night we met, a bloody tea leaf left him in his skivvies and shivering in the cold," Newkirk started.

* * *

Peter walked through the abandoned street, his head down determined not to cry. The chill he felt wasn't so much from the weather but from his pops; although he was grateful for the jacket, Mavis slipped out to him through the window. He kicked a can and then heard a moggy cry out in frustration. He investigated behind the restaurant's dustbin to find the animal trying to scratch up dinner.

"Did you get put out with no dinner either?" he said as he looked the orange tabby. "Let's see what we can find." He dug in the dumpster and found some cream and put it down for the cat, who happily lapped it up rewarding him with a swish of his tail. Digging a bit further, he found a half-eaten apple and cut the good part off with his pocketknife. Next, he found a dinner roll and part of a left over fish. He placed the fish by the cat as he sat on the cold ground to eat the apple and bread. "Not too bad a dinner for either of us." After the moggy finished his dinner, he rubbed up against Peter with a loud purr. "You're welcome mate," he said petting the soft fur.

A few minutes later, he continued walking aimlessly through the darkened streets unsure what to do. He learned the hard way to stay on this side of the tracks because the homeless slept in alleyways a few streets over and most of them scared him. Turning towards the Thames, he started in a direction he rarely wandered through hoping to find more food. Halfway down the street a moan emanated from the alleyway. Scanning around to ensure he wasn't about to be mugged, he saw a figure on the ground. The person moaned again, so Peter hesitantly walked over next to him. As he got closer, he could see it was a boy not much older than he was. "Are you all right mate?"

The frightened boy tried to move away, but couldn't manage more than a couple of inches. "Don't hurt me."

"I won't. What happened? Where are your clothes?"

"They took them and all my money."

"Come on, we need to get you inside before you catch your death in this cold. There's a place close by we can go," Peter took his jacket off wrapping it around the boy's shoulders as he helped him stand. The boy was a few inches taller than Peter, but Peter didn't complain as he leaned heavily upon him to walk. "What's your name?"

"Oliver, but I prefer people to call me Smitty. What's yours?"

"Peter. Me grams lives only a few streets from here and she'll know what to do. How did you get mugged?"

"Guess I wandered into the wrong part of town. Three guys decided they wanted my money. Tried to defend myself but it only made them madder and that's when they decided I didn't need my clothes."

"You're not from around here."

"No, I'm visiting my grandmother for the summer. I live in Philadelphia," Smitty nearly stumbled but Peter caught him before he fell.

"Never heard of it. Where's that at?"

"In the United States. Thanks for stopping and helping me."

"That's what mates are for and you'll like my grams because she's the best. She was a nurse in the War, so she'll be able to take care of you. It's only a few more streets." The boys walked in silence the remainder of the way. Once they arrived, Peter knocked on the back door loud enough to wake his grandmother.

"Who's bangin' on my door at this hour of the night?" his grandmother's voice sounded crossed. She opened the door gasping at the sight of the boys. "What 'appened?"

"Smitty needs your help Grams," Peter said tiring from helping the taller boy walk.

"Get him to the bedroom and I'll get some bandages," she moved out of the way for the boys to enter her small home.

Peter helped Smitty to the room he shared with his sister when they stayed at their grams' house, putting him on the bed his sister used. His grandmother came in carrying bandages and water. "Did you boys get into a fight?"

"No. I found him lying on the street and couldn't leave him alone."

She gently took her twelve-year-old grandson's chin in her hand turning his face to look at the bruises on both sides. "Your pops was drunk again. My poor baby," she took him into her arms holding him tight. "Glad you came to me." Smitty whimpered slightly as he tried to get into a more comfortable position on the bed. "Peter, there are some clothes that might fit him in the old trunk in the attic. I want you to go up and see what you can find while I tend to his injuries."

She cleaned up the older boy's wounds and bandaged them the best she could, then wrapped him up in the covers. Smitty was asleep before she finished. Afterwards, she went and put on the kettle for tea. Peter laid the clothes next to the bed before joining her in the kitchen.

"You did good bringing him here. In the morning, we'll contact his parents so they won't be worried. Was your mother home this time?"

"No ma'am, she was at work. Pops had a skinfull before he came home and then finished off the whiskey. He said I was useless as I didn't bring any money in the house. Told him what for? Cause he didn't work much, what money he did earn he drank and Mum had to support us. That's when he…," he didn't finish the sentence.

"He's a bloody worthless bastard and I never understood why my daughter ever married him. You and your sister are the only good to come out of that man. Remember, anytime he gets in one of his moods, you're always welcome 'ere," she said with a gentle smile. The fury burned deep in her soul as she took stock of the beating her favorite grandson took.

"One of these days I'm going to be big enough to give him what he's due," anger filled his words. "When 'e tossed me out of the flat, I climbed to the roof and stayed there for the longest time, until he was asleep. Then I climbed down the fire escape to check on Mavis. He hadn't touched her thankfully. I was afraid to go back in until Mum got home, so Mavis handed me my jacket and I started walking."

His grandmother reached out and pulled him close, rocking him in her arms, as he sat in her lap. "I love you, you know that right?"

"I love you too."

She held him close until he fell asleep then put him to bed, checking on the other boy at the same time. The following morning they contacted Smitty's worried grandmother, who came to collect him. Smitty told his grandmother that Peter helped save his life from the people who robbed him to account for the younger boy's bruises. His grandmother insisted that Peter come to her home in a few days when both boys were feeling better. He and Smitty spent most of the summer hanging out together, and all their summers following.

* * *

"So that's how we met," Newkirk said lighting up a cigarette.

"Did they ever find who mugged you?" Carter asked.

Newkirk and Smitty shared a knowing look. "That's a story for another day," Smitty said. "What I remember most about our summer adventures was your grams' biscuits. She made the best bistcuits I ever tasted."

"That she did. And how mad she pretended to be when we ate them all," Newkirk laughed. "Her special ingredient made them the best."

"What was her special ingredient," LeBeau asked.

"Love," Newkirk said, a hint of a smile crossing his face.

"Which she had to spare," Smitty said.

"Does she still make you biscuits?" Carter asked.

"Nah, she passed a few years back," Newkirk said as his body stiffened ever so slightly which didn't go unnoticed by his friends or commander.

"Newkirk, that was a nice trip down memory lane, but we have work to do," Hogan said sitting at the head of the table. "LeBeau, we're going to need Gestapo uniforms for you, me, and Olsen. Make us officers and you'll be the driver."

"Oui."

"Wait a minute. What about for Smitty and me?" Newkirk asked.

"I have another job for you. We need the documents written up to take custody of Nottinghton."

"Beg your pardon, sir but I aim to be in on capturing him."

"Newkirk, you and Smith are the two who can't be there. He'd recognize you and I want to get him here with the least amount of trouble."

"The Colonel is right. Scott would take off or fight if he sees us. Can't have him realize too soon that's he been had," Smitty said.

"I suppose you're right, but I don't like it none," Newkirk groused.

"Didn't think you would, but I appreciate your cooperation. Kinch and Baker, we'll need two round the clock guards posted. Make up a schedule and pull in whoever is needed."

"Do you want them in the cooler so we don't have to worry about roll calls?" Kinch asked.

"It's been quiet lately, yes go ahead."

"One fight in the compound later this afternoon," Kinch smirked.

"How do we plan on getting him in the tunnels, sir?" Olsen asked.

"Still working on that part. Don't really want him recognizing where he's at."

"We could use a blindfold or a hood," LeBeau suggested.

"How about using the ring we got from Morrison? After he's in the car, shake his hand and he'll be out for several hours. We'd have to carry him to the tunnel, but he'll have no idea where he is. He's important enough that London will send a plane to pick him up, and we could use the same procedure. So if there are ever any problems, he'll never be able to give us away," Kinch said.*

"I like it. Carter, have Wilson fill the ring with a sedative. Enough for a several hours," Hogan ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"How long will we need to keep him here until London can pick him up?" LeBeau asked.

Hogan didn't miss Newkirk's eyes shifting downward. "Problem with him going back to London, Newkirk?"

"London really doesn't want him back, so why go through the motions, sir."

"The information on how he traveled here can save a lot of lives," Hogan said.

"We can get the details out of him right here. Smitty and I can be quite persuasive."

"There's information we need to get out of him as quickly as possible, sir," Smitty said.

"Yes, and we will interrogate him here. I don't think he will be cooperative, so if necessary we'll use the truth serum," Hogan said watching the pair closely.

"Fat lot of good it did with Schultz. Aluminium pans," Newkirk's tone ventured well into insubordination.**

"Is there a problem I should be aware of?" Hogan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No sir, we should try it your way first," Newkirk said looking Hogan directly in the eye. The simmering anger behind the Corporal's eyes bothered Hogan.

"Everyone has their assignments," Hogan ordered standing up and going into his office. He closed the door behind him running a hand over his face. How was he going to get through to Newkirk that they would not be judge, jury, and executioners?

* * *

* Episode – Bad Day in Berlin

**Episode – At Last- Schultz Knows Something


	5. Chapter 5

Early afternoon, Smitty entered his and Hogan's room. "Sir, am I disturbing you?"

"Not at all. In fact, I want to speak with you. Have a seat," Hogan pointed to the other chair at the rickety table and Smitty sat down facing his new commanding officer. "I need you to read me in on your mission. Don't leave any details out."

"Sir, I'm not sure what more I can tell you."

"I understand for security reasons everything is compartmentalized. You're not going to be there when we capture him. If I don't have all the facts important factors might be missed."

"Yes sir," Smitty sighed understanding Hogan's viewpoint. His orders were need to know, but by his thinking, Hogan required _some_ of the details to ensure the mission was a success. "The information Nottington has are the decoy plans for the D-Day invasion. I have no idea when the job is planned for, but we both recognize how important misleading the enemy can be in a battle. When the battle happens, it'll be the largest endeavor of the war to date."

"Ambitious move, and hopefully well worth it. Where is the fake staging area?" Smitty hesitated and moved in his chair. "I need everything Nottington stole."

Smitty sighed, "Sir, you can see it from my perspective. If you're captured and tortured the loss of lives becomes immeasurable."

"I've already been captured, as have you. The stakes are very high for everyone involved. Tell me everything, and that's a direct order," Hogan's command face stayed firmly in place.

"The staging area for the decoy is Dover for an invasion into Pas-de-Calais. And sir, before you ask, I honestly don't know where the real invasion will take place. Although, I'm sure we can both pretty much deduce the location."

Hogan ran a hand over his face. "The Germans will expect the invasion to be from Calais. Brilliant plan. This information doesn't get to the men, including Newkirk," he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"I need your help with Newkirk."

"How so, sir?" Smitty's eyes showing great concern.

"Right now he's hurt and angry. I'm afraid he wants to take out his anger on Nottington getting revenge for Rita. Although his desire is completely understandable, I simply can't allow him to kill or injure the man. He's not thinking straight, and I'm concerned for the rest of his life. Revenge might feel good for the moment; however, in the long-term, it will hurt Peter more than help," Hogan softened his stance from the earlier part of their conversation.

"What do you want from me, sir?" Smitty shifted again in the uncomfortable chair.

"Talk to him. You're old friends with deep bonds. He needs your friendship right now. Newkirk has grown while in the camp. I've seen his defensive brashness soften as he's let people care about him. I image the original brashness came from deep pain earlier in his life."

Smitty nodded his head in agreement but didn't speak. He knew where the defensiveness came from and why Peter erroneously believed no one should ever love him again.

"Nottington will get his trial and whatever punishment the courts deem appropriate, which is our way. We're not judge, jury, and executioners. Our way of life is precisely the reason we're fighting this war. We are not Nazis. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good. Get some rest, I have things to handle," Hogan said standing up leaving their room.

Smitty stood pacing throughout the room. Hogan was right. His own guilt and anger over Rita's death had temporarily overpowered his reasoning abilities. A lot of lives were at stake, even more than he originally believed with adding taking out the German underground in England. He and Peter were no longer teenagers, but grown men with adult responsibilities now. His mind wandered back to the time he and Newkirk killed a man, a boy really, the same age as him. At the time, their actions seemed appropriate, and the bastard was a multiple murderer who would have continued to kill. The pair became his judge, jury, and executioners. The aftermath neither could have fathomed as all they could think of was revenge. Neither boy was ever charged with the murder, but the toll the killing took on their souls remained until this day. A burden which nearly destroyed Newkirk afterwards, causing his flawed belief he should never be loved again. He simply couldn't allow that type of guilt to overtake his friend again.

* * *

"How's the paperwork going?" Carter asked entering the front door of the barracks.

"Take a look," Newkirk handed him the just completed orders.

Carter read over the orders scrutinizing each word. "The Germans should hire you to write all their orders."

"Yeah, me first order would be for them to lay down all arms. The second would be to present old nutcase for trial," Newkirk said.

"Boy, I sure wish they'd follow those orders," Carter grinned sitting across the table from Newkirk.

"Me too. Did ya get the ring filled with sedative?"

"Sure did. Wilson said it's a new sedative London sent, and will work within one to two seconds of making contact with the person. Wish I was going on this capture."

"Me too. I understand why I can't be there in the hotel room, but I'd sure like to be the one to jab him with the ring. See his eyes when he realizes he's been caught," Newkirk's eyes were hard.

"Maybe you can be downstairs when he wakes up and finds out he's in a cage. The guys are checking out the cell now making sure there's no way he can get out."

"Good. Might inspect it meself. I do plan on being the first face he sees waking up, and the last face he ever sees."

"Peter," Carter hesitated trying to find the right words. "What do you think Rita would say if she could hear you speaking this way?"

"The point is she can never hear me speak any words again!" he snapped. Carter flinched at his outburst. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"You didn't answer the question. What would Rita say if she heard you planning on killing her brother?"

Newkirk looked down at the table mumbling, "I…I don't know."

"I think we both do," Smitty said coming out of his room. "She'd be bloody hell pissed. Rita always protected Scotty even when he did something wrong. She might tear into him herself, but if anyone else did she went on the war path."

"He MURDERED her!" Newkirk jumped up in Smitty's face.

"I was there," he said softly, his eyes meeting Newkirk's angry eyes.

"I thought you had me back."

"I do. I really do. Carter's right. We can't tarnish her memory by doing something which would have horrified her. How does that honor Rita?"

"Bloody hell," Newkirk stormed out of the barracks. His steps wide and angry, he kicked a rock across the compound making it apparent to anyone watching he was not to be disturbed. His guts tied up in a knot, he needed a quiet place to think. His feet took him directly to the delousing station once more. Without hesitation, he picked the lock, entered, then closed the door behind him. How dare anyone try to calm his anger! He wanted to take his anger out on Scott beating the bastard to death. Rita deserved to be revenged. Smitty knew bloody well, what had to be done. He kicked the stool in front of him watching as it scurried across the floor. It wasn't good enough; he picked the stool up and swinging at the wall repeatedly until only shards of wood were left. Emotions overcoming him, he knelt on the floor as his body was racked with sobs.

While destroying the stool in anger, Newkirk never realized another person entered the building. Strong arms wrapped around Peter pulling him close as both men cried. "Let it out," Smitty said with tears streaming down his face.

An interminable amount of time later, Newkirk's sobs subsided. "She was the best thing in my life."

"I know."

"He has to pay."

"He will. I promise, but the right way. The way Rita would accept. Do you remember her fury at Jude's death? How much worse would it be with Scotty's death? Do you want to face her in the afterlife to explain?"

"Not really," Newkirk shuddered. "That's a might scary thought." The men sat shoulder to shoulder in the darkened room not speaking for several minutes. "I miss her."

"So do I."

"What do we do?"

"Help Hogan and Olsen capture the bastard. We'll both be involved in his interrogation. Then he goes to London to stand trial for treason and murder. We both watch as the firing squad takes aim putting him out of our misery."

"I'd rather put the bloody bullet between his eyes meself."

"Temporarily satisfying. Someone recently reminded me there's a war on. We're fighting for our way of life. This is our way. We're not Nazis."

"Sounds like a wise man."

"Definitely."

* * *

The hours until Sunday night passed quickly with the men preparing for their prisoner. Evening roll call completed a few minutes prior, found the men in the tunnels. Hogan, Olsen, and LeBeau dressed as Gestapo.

"You lot look good enough to shoot," Newkirk said sitting on a stool at the far end of the room.

"Good job on the uniforms LeBeau," Hogan said inspecting all three for accuracy.

"Merci."

"Everyone clear on their duties?" Hogan asked.

"Yes, sir," Olsen and LeBeau responded.

"Sir, are you sure you don't want us to go as backup?" Carter asked.

"It would be no trouble at all," Newkirk hopped off the stool walking over to his teammates.

"Thanks for the offer, but this job is best done with just the three of us. Don't want to cause any suspicions with the Germans. Kinch, what about Klink's staff car?"

The radioman handed the keys to Hogan. "Sitting in the usual spot, fueled and ready to go. The Gestapo flags are in the trunk."

"What are we paying for this trip?" Olsen asked.

"Five cents a mile," Kinch said.

"That's cheap. Why the cut-rate deal?" Hogan questioned, his eyes filled with concern.

"Plus two pair of stockings. One for the motor pool sergeant's wife and one for his girlfriend," Kinch explained.

"Ah that makes much more sense. Do we even have any more stockings?" Hogan asked.

"One pair and I've put the other pair on the supply list for London. Told him he'd have to decide who gets the first pair."

"London supplies you with stockings?" Smitty asked as if he couldn't believe the conversation.

"Local currency. You'd be surprised how far a pair of stockings goes. Plus chocolate and perfume. Items difficult to find in the local economy," Hogan answered. Smitty shook his head in amazement.

Hogan, Olsen, and LeBeau climbed out of the tunnel, quietly traipsing through the woods to the road where Klink's staff car waited. Olsen retrieved the Gestapo flags from the trunk placing them on the front of the car, as LeBeau started the car. He then climbed into the backseat beside Hogan. No one spoke on the short drive into town. LeBeau pulled the car up behind the Hauserhoff hotel. The three men entered through the rear door leading to the main hallway. Carl the owner, expecting these guests, nodded at Papa Bear and indicated for them to take the stairs near the entrance to the dining room. Hogan ordered Olsen to check for possible dangers with a look and gesture towards the front of the building.

The sergeant walked the length of the hallway to the front of the business watching for threats to their mission. He spotted nothing and made the turn back coming to a complete stop facing the dining room. His Gestapo Captain's uniform made most of the patrons glance anywhere except in his direction. Suddenly, his face went ashen pale. Concerned, Hogan and LeBeau moved closer to Olsen just out of sight of the diners.

Olsen's eyes stared across the dining room into the brown eyes watching him. The only eyes in the town who would know Olsen through the disguise he wore locked eyes into his eyes with anger shining brightly. "Sir, my cover has just been blown."


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you mean?" Hogan looked around at the patrons of the restaurant below the hotel wondering if this mission should be scrubbed, instantly spotting the trouble.

"For me to be effective as the Outside Man again, another person needs to return to camp with us. This won't take long if LeBeau can help, sir," Olsen's heart was breaking. The course of his entire life would play out in the next few minutes in that room.

Hogan nodded his head and LeBeau followed Olsen into the dining hall, half way through the tables coming to a stop at a table with three ladies dining together. Each man took a position on either side of a young woman with long brown curly hair.

"Fraulein, would you come with us please?" Olsen asked as his Gestapo uniform drew unwanted attention from the other patrons.

"Why?" she asked in a shaky voice refusing to look him in the eye.

"Please," he asked softly holding his hands out for her to follow.

"I believe that would not be a good idea," Porscha said determined not to move. LeBeau moved closer to her.

"It's best if you go see what they want," her friend said with trepidation. The other lady nodded her head in agreement, eyes worried this was the last time she'd ever see her friend again. Hoping the Gestapo wouldn't take all of them in because they'd dined with Porscha Herz.

"Fraulein please," his eyes begged her not to make a scene as her ireful eyes glared into his momentarily then looked away.

Porscha lifted her napkin out of her lap, folding it neatly then laying it on the table. Next, she picked up her glass of wine and finished the drink before sitting the glass back down by her plate. She stood allowing LeBeau to help her with her coat, all the while refusing to look at Olsen. Clutching her purse, she quietly began walking in the direction indicated forgetting her gloves. Both men flanked her as they walked out of the room; Olsen led them to a small private area down the back hallway near the exit door.

He turned to face her, reaching out a hand to touch her arm. Porscha pulled back in fear as her body trembled. "I'm sorry."

"As you should be," she fought to maintain her composure, determined not make this easy for him.

"This isn't what it appears to be."

"Oh really? I thought the Gestapo made their intentions quite clear," doubt shining through her eyes about anything he said or had ever told her.

Taking a half a step closer, he leaned his forehead against hers. "All I'm asking is for you to trust me. I'll explain everything later. Please go with LeBeau. I promise that you'll be safe. And then I'll answer every one of your questions until you're satisfied."

"Then what will happen?" Gestapo weren't known for being forthcoming and allowing people to live.

"You will be safe." His heart was shredded from the betrayal shining through her eyes. Whether she'd go home or be sent to an Allied POW camp remained to be determined.

Porscha nodded her head unable to trust her voice. The man she thought she knew so well, was Gestapo? It ripped her heart out. She couldn't imagine anything he'd say, which could change the hurt and anger she felt. She turned to follow LeBeau out the door when Olsen gently grasped her hand.

"I really do love you," he let her hand go but didn't miss the tears of fear coming out of her eyes.

"Cette façon plaît madame*," LeBeau led her to the car with one hand on her arm. Once they were inside the car, she spat 'Carlingue'** at him pulling her coat around her closer glaring at him.

The word cut into his soul, although for now, he wouldn't let the wound show. The critical nature of the mission and the team was down a man with a second prisoner to guard kept him grounded. He hoped this was the only hiccup in the job.

* * *

"Are you all right?" Hogan asked standing beside the sergeant as they watched LeBeau escort Olsen's girlfriend out of the building.

Olsen breathed deeply a couple of times before answering. "Yes, sir. Let's get this bastard before he causes anymore trouble."

Hogan observed Olsen to make sure his sergeant didn't need another moment to compose himself. Without speaking, Olsen began climbing the staircase with Hogan a couple of steps behind him. At the top, they both turned right, proceeding down the hallway, turning left at the next intersection only to be stopped by a Gestapo Private.

"Halt!"

"Heil Hitler, I am Colonel Hoganmueller here to escort our guest to Berlin."

"I thought no one was coming until tomorrow, Herr Oberst."

"You thought wrong. Are you in charge of a high valued guest?" Hogan asked looking around for the other two guards.

"Nein. Leutnant Kohl is with Herr Nottington," the private answered. "Do you want me to get him?" he asked as both officers showed displeasure.

"Mach schnell," Olsen said.

The private knocked on the door to room 212, explaining to the Lieutenant the situation. Kohl came out closing the door behind him. "How may I assist you, Herr Oberst?"

"We have orders to take the Englander to Berlin," Hogan handed him the fake orders which Newkirk wrote.

"There must be a mistake. I was told the Abwehr would arrive tomorrow," Kohl eyed the men suspiciously, as he opened the orders.

"The Reichsführer feels the Gestapo should have the information before the Abwehr, and has invited Herr Nottington to spend time with him in Berlin. Surely you agree with the Reichsführer," Hogan said with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course. It's just unexpected orders. I will need to verify with my commanding officer," Kohl stammered after reading the document.

"Do as you must. In the meantime, we'll prepare our guest for his trip," Hogan said walking past the Lieutenant, and into the room followed closely by Olsen. He scanned the room finding Nottington on the couch near the window. "Herr Nottington, we are here to escort you to Berlin."

Nottington sat back studying the new men in his room, before sitting his cognac on the table in front of him. "And who might you be?"

"Forgive my manners," Hogan said with slight bow of his head. "I am Oberst Hoganmueller, and Herr Hauptmann Derrick Wechsler. Reichsführer Himmler would like to meet with you in the morning."

"Really? I was told he wasn't available for a meeting. You do realize my good friend Rudolf has made arrangements for me to meet with the Abwehr tomorrow," Nottington sat back on the couch.

"After careful consideration, the Reichsführer has determined he has a few hours in the morning and is most anxious to spend that time with you. To save time and to guarantee you're in the Abwehr Berlin office for your appointment, we have been ordered to escort you to Berlin tonight. You'll meet with the Reichsführer at 7:00. The Abwehr will pick you up for your meeting with them," Hogan thought Scotty would have similar affect and mannerisms to Newkirk. He clearly did not. The Englander was quick, and possibly a real problem for his team. Not that he thought Newkirk wasn't intelligent, but there was something in Scotty's eyes which said every word he spoke, and his facial expressions, were both calculated and controlled.

"I always believed the Gestapo was the most effective police force in the world. A force I would be proud to be a member of. Possibly the meeting is an example of that effectiveness?" Scotty asked as he stood.

"Will it take you long to gather your belongings?" Hogan asked.

Olsen kept Scotty in his sights at all times while he causally wandered around the suite searching for threats and the documents. Bluebird said three guards were on duty and only two had presented themselves. The hair on his neck rose in the midst of potentially dangerous discrepancies.

"Is there something your colleague is looking for," Scotty asked turning towards Olsen.

Olsen stopped moving to face him, "Nein, Mien Herr. Simply verifying everything is secured and the local office has treated you with respect."

"Major Hochstetter is a likeable chap. Though, Leutnant Kohl is an idiot," Scotty said in all seriousness.

Hogan smirked, "I have heard the same description of the Lieutenant before. But in war time, sometimes you make do." He shrugged his shoulders; his mind attempting to process anyone referring to Hochstetter as 'likeable'.

As if on cue, Kohl entered the room. "All is in order. I'm sorry we will not have more time to speak Herr Nottington. I enjoyed our conversations."

"Perhaps in the future we shall have that time. Gentlemen, I am ready to go to Berlin," Scotty said with a smile. He walked over to the tree coat, picked up his coat putting it on, his scarf neatly placed around the top of his coat. Afterwards, he took his gloves out of his pocket slowing placing them on his hands.

Definitely not someone to underestimate, Hogan thought. "Do you have anything to take to your meeting with the Abwehr? We will not be returning to Hammelburg."

"I travel lightly. The information the Abwehr is expecting is secure until all the formalities are resolved," Scotty said stepping towards Hogan.

"Our car awaits," Hogan said indicating for Nottington to exit the room. He wondered where the stolen plans were hidden. As the four men entered the hallway, two Gestapo privates stood on either side of the door.

Olsen stopped observing at each man. He walked up to within inches of the man he'd not seen earlier. "Do you call yourself a soldier of the Third Reich and present your uniform in disarray?"

The man wilted under Olsen's glare. "Ne..nei…nein, sir. I tried to clean off the soup but it made the stain worse."

"Learn to clean your uniform. Or better yet, eat your dinner as a man not a pig. Lieutenant Kohl, put this man on report!" Olsen ordered before turning and following Hogan and Nottington downstairs. Olsen almost felt sorry for the private who was about to have a miserable evening. Maybe the next war, he'd choose the correct side on which to fight.

Hogan led Scotty down the stairs, and through the hallway leading to the back door to the awaiting car. He opened the door for his prisoner gesturing for him to sit in the backseat.

"Hello Fraulein," Scotty said sliding over in the seat next to her checking out the pretty lady. "It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance and to share this ride with you to Berlin. What is your business in the city?" He smiled warmly at her as he tipped his hat.

"Berlin?" Her hands shook at the news.

"Yes, these gentlemen are gracious enough to escort me to see the Reichsführer. I assumed your destination was the same. Am I wrong?" Scotty unbuttoned the top button to his coat loosening his scarf, getting comfortable for the long ride.

Porscha's eyes enlarged with fear as she glared at Olsen who climbed into the backseat next to the Englander. "Safe in Berlin Gestapo Headquarters?"

"The Fraulein will be traveling with us. Nonetheless, her destination is different," Olsen said as he took off his gloves and twisted the ring on his hand. "Herr Nottington, allow me to help you with your scarf. It is tangled." Olsen moved the scarf jabbing Scotty in the neck with his right hand as his left hand gripped the far side of the man's neck preventing an escape.

Scotty's eyes turned angry straightaway when he felt the prick of the ring. He struggled attempting to grasp Olsen's hands, but swiftly succumbed to the fast acting sedative. His head lulled sideways towards Porscha. This was too much and she couldn't allow them to take her to Berlin Gestapo, no matter what Olsen said, because people disappeared forever there. She tried to grab the door handle fumbling with shaking hands.

"Porscha, wait I can explain!" Olsen said as he reached over Scott grasping her hand. The ring instantly pierced the skin on the back of her hands as his hand made contact. Porscha's eyes showed utter betrayal as she also fell unconscious from the medication. "Oh great. That just made things ten times worse."

* * *

* This way please ma'am

**Carlingue – French Gestapo


	7. Chapter 7

Olsen let go of Porscha's hand, turning his hand over looking at the ring. In anger, he jabbed the ring into Scott depositing any remaining sedative into the Englander to ensure he stayed knocked out causing no more problems. Afterwards, he shoved Scott over so he could sit next to Porscha, holding her in his arms.

"What now, mon Colonel?"

"Drive. We'll sort it out back at camp," Hogan turned back facing the front of the car.

Meanwhile, Olsen gently caressed the side of his girlfriend's face, sorry evident in his body language and actions. LeBeau left Hammelburg as fast as possible without drawing attention to the car. When they arrived as close as they dared to the tunnel entrance, Hogan sent him to get help carrying Scott. He turned facing Olsen in the backseat.

"Colonel, I didn't mean to stab her with the ring," Olsen said with panic in his voice.

"I know, and she'll understand. Remind me again how Porscha feels about the war."

"She hates the Nazi party and wants the war to be over, and can't understand why the world won't live in peace. And she's terrified of the Gestapo. Someone she loved dearly was harassed by the Gestapo, and vanished in the middle of the night. When she asked about her friend, she was told never to say her name again. A Gestapo sergeant had assaulted the woman and more than once from what I gathered. She's never been explicit with the details. She was afraid of repercussions and dropped the inquiry."

"Smart woman. Which explains her reaction to seeing you in that uniform," Hogan nodded his head digesting the information. "Does she know you're an American?"

"No. She only knows me as Derrick. I knew I'd have to tell her but I thought it would be after we won the war. And if the unthinkable happened and Germany won, I'd just slip into the world as Derrick Wechsler. Never imagined, we'd have the conversation under these circumstances."

"Not a conversation I envy. It will be rough. Depending upon her reactions, I might have to send her to London as a POW," Hogan was gentle but firm.

"I understand. It won't come to that, you'll see, sir. I don't want her taking the risks of being involved in the underground though," Olsen was adamant.

"She doesn't have to join the underground, only agree to our secrets, and be trustworthy."

"She's trustworthy. If I thought she had any sympathies for the Nazis, we wouldn't be together."

"I'm sure she doesn't," Hogan smiled gently. "When we get them inside, Wilson will examine her as a precaution. Then you're going upstairs with the rest of us. It's late and we all need sleep. Tomorrow will be long and arduous."

"Sir, with all due respect, I shouldn't leave Porscha alone. Besides, I doubt under the circumstances I can sleep," Olsen said.

"No. I expect a middle of the night roll call and everyone must be upstairs. The men in the cooler will keep an eye on her, but you and everyone else will be upstairs. Do I make myself clear?" Hogan said with his command face firmly in place.

"Yes, sir," Olsen caressed Porscha's face then looking back at Hogan asked. "Why a roll-call tonight?"

"If Hochstetter figures out what happened tonight, he'll make a beeline for Stalag 13. Everyone has to be accounted for so he can leave. I seriously doubt she wakes up before lunch tomorrow."

"Hadn't considered him blaming us. What if he shows up in the morning and it's about time for her to wake up?"

"We'll deal with that if it happens. Hopefully it won't," Hogan said not wanting to voice his decision. If it came to that, he'd have her handcuffed to the wall so she couldn't wander around alone. The safety of the operation came first at any cost.

Newkirk opened the back door of the car staring at the unconscious man. "That's the bloody traitor all right. Kinch, you want to get his 'ead? I might rip it off his body."

"Sure," Kinch said, his left eyebrow raised unable to tell if Newkirk was serious or joking.

"I'll carry Porscha," Olsen said getting out of the car after they removed Scott. He went around the other side of the car reaching in picking her up in his arms.

"Do you want some help?" Carter asked.

"No, I can manage. Thanks though."

"LeBeau, take the car back to the drop off point and come inside as quickly as you can," Hogan ordered.

"Oui, sir."

"LeBeau told us what happened. Sorry she found out," Kinch said as they made their way through the woods.

"It'll be all right," Olsen said, but nobody missed the stress in his voice.

"Let's keep the conversation to a minimum," Hogan ordered keeping an eye out for patrols.

Once in the tunnels, Kinch and Newkirk carried Scott to the cell laying him on the cot, while Hogan watched. Newkirk grabbed the leg irons securing them on the prisoner and then to the wall. Scott wouldn't be able to walk around his cell more than about three feet while restrained, but Newkirk believed that much was generous. Kinch laid a blanket over the unconscious man.

"Don't sleep too bloody well," Newkirk said as they left the cell locking the door. Turning to the guard posted he said, "I'll be down before he wakes up, so don't have too much fun without me in case he's an early riser."

* * *

Olsen carried Porscha to the area where escaping POWs and other important guests slept gently placing her down on a cot. Wilson immediately began examining his patient. "How much of the sedative did she receive?"

"A couple of seconds' worth, but it worked fast," Olsen explained. "The traitor got jabbed twice. I emptied the ring into him."

Wilson kept his medic face firmly in place grimacing internally. Although he understood the reason, he hoped the man would come around in the next twenty-four hours. "She'll be fine and will awaken sometime tomorrow morning. A full dose of the medicine will keep someone out ten to twelve hours depending on the way their body metabolizes the drug. I'll check on the prisoner now."

Olsen placed two blankets over his girlfriend, while LeBeau who had just joined them found something to work as a pillow. "She gets so cold and it's always chilly down here."

"She'll be fine," Hogan said as he and the rest of the men came to check on their guest. "Right now, I want everyone else upstairs and in their bunks. Tomorrow will be long." He began herding his men towards the Barracks Two ladder. Olsen gave Porscha one last longing look before following orders. As the others climbed up, Hogan pulled Newkirk aside. "We need to talk."

"I think I know what you're going to say, Gov'nor," Newkirk said taking a seat near the radio.

"Do I need to ban you from entering the tunnels while Nottington is here?"

"You wouldn't," Newkirk appeared terrified.

"If that's what it takes to keep him safe and you from committing murder, yes I would. And if you push me, I'll have Klink lock you in the cooler in a cell with no back door," Hogan said with a stern face.

Newkirk swallowed hard as his eyes enlarged. "No sir, that won't be necessary."

Hogan crossed his arms, "Convince me."

"I give you me word, sir."

"Normally I'd accept your word, but you're understandably angry with what he's done. Plus you've made your intentions abundantly clear. I need more."

Newkirk's face showed pain from the Colonel's words, but he couldn't blame him. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Rita deserves better. I admit I'd like nothing more than to choke the life out of Scott with me bare hands. Killing Scott wouldn't honor Rita's life, as she spent her entire life trying to make him a better person. She failed, but I can't fail her. Someone reminded me there's a war on and as satisfying as revenge would be it simply isn't our way. Scott must stand trial for his crimes. That's our way. We're not Nazis."

"Good enough. Let's go upstairs," Hogan said with a gentle smile.

* * *

Porscha moaned slightly while raising her right hand to her throbbing forehead. She opened her eyes blinking until they came into focus to see a glove on her hand. Not her glove, instead Derrick's glove. Derrick. Gestapo. The night came rushing back, making her sit up too quickly. The room spun as her feet hit the floor.

"Careful, not too fast," someone said. She looked at him, her mind taking a moment to register. He wasn't wearing a Gestapo uniform, but she had no idea what type of uniform he wore. Not any German uniform she'd ever seen. "How are you feeling?" He asked in English.

"Have a splitting headache," her throat felt parched.

"An unfortunate side effect of the sedative. Here this will help," he handed her a glass of water and two aspirin. He had a kind face, must be a medic or doctor from his bedside manner. She'd recognize a medical professional anywhere. "I understand your being dosed was an accident."

"Doubtful. The Gestapo rarely does anything by accident." She swallowed the medication and he must have read her mind because he answered her unspoken questions.

"About twelve hours. The headache and nausea will wear off shortly. My name is Joe."

"Thank you. Umm…," she looked around the room.

"We don't have the best of facilities. The ladies room is behind that blanket," kind face pointed towards a rope with a blanket strung across one end of the room.

She removed Derrick's gloves placing them on the cot, then stood on shaky legs. Kind face helped her stand until her legs cooperated. Once she was able, she walked behind the blanket. Great, just great, she thought. The 'facilities' was a bucket with a lid on it. At least, there was a lid and nature called, so anything worked right now. A small jar of water was left for her to use to wash up; she rinsed her hands and splashed some water on her face. Making herself as presentable as possible, she entered the room again.

"Are you hungry? I can have some food brought to you."

Her stomach began to rumble at the mention of food; she hadn't realized how hungry she was. She shook her head yes. He really did have gentle eyes. What did he say his name was? Sepp? Josef? No Joe. "Joe, where am I?"

"You have a visitor whom I'll allow to explain. Our chef will bring you some food," Wilson said as he left the room. She could hear him speaking to someone on the other side of the wall. "Bryan, she's awake."

Olsen walked in looking like he was terrified of her and for her at the same time.

"Get out!" She picked up his gloves throwing them at him, her voice cross and angry. "I don't want to speak with you!"

* * *

Consciousness beckoned, but he kept his eyes closed listening. The room quiet except for one person breathing through a congested nose. No other sounds were detectible, which meant no machinery, no window for the sounds of the street to enter. Not good. He was covered with a rough blanket, which had been thoughtfully placed to cover his entire body instead of haphazardly tossed on him. Someone thought he was important, and he wondered whom and if they'd be malleable. He lay on a cot with his hands crossed over his chest as he normally slept, indicating he wasn't tied to a chair, another good point. He moved his hands to his side smiling inwardly, no handcuffs. His legs however were chained. He could feel the pull of the chain as it left the cot and he'd bet the other end attached to a wall. Limited walking distance might be an issue.

He still wore his own clothing. Another good point. If lucky, he was still armed but wouldn't be able to tell until he sat up. Nasal breather moved, must have noticed Scott's hands move. Not being able to deduce any more information with his eyes closed, he opened them. The ceiling looked like dirt and the wall he faced also dirt. Was he in a cellar? From the corner of his eye, he saw bars, indicating a holding cell. He moved his hand across his jacket pocket, his knife was gone not surprisingly, but at least they hadn't discovered his other weapon. His head pounded as he sat up placing his feet on the ground.

His movement made his guard shift on a stool. "So you're finally awake," a smug English voice said.

Surprise showed only for an instant, "What the bloody 'ell are you doing 'ere?"

"Enjoying the sights right now. You in a cage like a zoo animal."

"Can I have some aspirin?"

"Nope, don't have any."

Last he knew, Newkirk was in a prisoner of war camp somewhere in Germany. An important bit of information he needed, was he still in Germany or back in England. "How did ya get back to England?"

"Ain't been to England in a long time. There's a war on and I'll be here until it's won," Newkirk said apparently satisfied with himself.

"Which will soon enough be won by the right side."

"Yep, the Allies," Newkirk said.

Good ole Newkirk, he thought, always easy to manipulate. Not only did he tell him that he was still in Germany, but the two who had kidnapped him weren't real Gestapo. Wherever he was wouldn't be too difficult to escape from with guards like Newkirk. It wouldn't take him long to have the bastard believing releasing Scott was his own idea. He grinned calculating his next few moves. Checkmate Newkirk.


	8. Chapter 8

"How's Rita?" Newkirk asked watching Scotty closely, his face devoid of emotion. The Gov'nor wanted Scott to know that he's still in Germany, and the bastard was falling right into the trap Newkirk set for him. Scott didn't have a chance against the masters of deceit and cunning with Newkirk or anyone else on the team. Give him enough rope and the traitor would hang himself. He'd gladly tie that rope around the traitor's neck.

So Newkirk knew she was dead. "Not feelin' any pain."

"Why you bloody bastard!" Newkirk jumped up from the stool.

"Perhaps you should explain how she's no longer feeling pain," Smitty said as he walked into the room.

Scotty's eyes enlarged, seeing the American shocked him. He recovered quickly. With Smitty here, Newkirk must be involved with the Allied underground. Something he could use in his favor, he knew of a double agent in said underground. "She fought for the wrong side of the war. Explained the situation to her, but she wasn't exactly bright. Never did understand politics."

"I suppose politics are your forte? Why don't you explain to us what Rita didn't understand?" Smitty asked.

"Interesting, the pair of you together again. Are you planning a murder?" Scotty needed to put them on the defensive. He was unsure if someone else was listening and these two were only the warm up choir. Together they were dangerous, so he had to separate them.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Newkirk turned facing his friend.

Smitty nodded his head. "Me too."

"What would your grandmothers think of you now?"

"Mine is proud of both of us. You, she'd be angry with and his would kick your ass herself," Smitty said with a smug grin.

Newkirk didn't flinch, always before the mention of his dead grandmother made him upset. This strategy wasn't working, so he'd change topics. "Peter, do you really believe you can trust your good friend there?"

"Of course I do. Trust him with my life," Newkirk answered defensively.

"Your life maybe. Your girl definitely not. Smitty began shagging Rita after you were shot down. The night he gave her the news, he took advantage of her weakened emotional state." The look of horror on Smitty's face and the smug grin gone made one corner of Scotty's mouth turn upward. Newkirk's face went blank. Yep, he could work those two against each other for his purposes. Newkirk's volatile anger would turn them against one another, making the enemy of my enemy useful to Scott. "I tried reasoning with Rita to make her understand he was only using her. Toying with her emotions. Never understood how he could trample all over your so-called friendship for his own personal," he stopped for dramatic pause, "pleasure."

* * *

LeBeau carried a tray of food into Porscha. She turned around finding LeBeau there spouting, "You," fear and anger in her voice.

"I heard you were hungry. I hope you enjoy this, food is my passion," LeBeau sat the food on the small table.

"A Gestapo chef?" That confused her completely.

"Non, I am not Gestapo."

"But I saw you in uniform last night."

"Oui, you did, but you don't understand what you saw. None of us are Gestapo," he stopped when she turned away from him.

Her eyes darted around the back of the room. Nein, it didn't make sense. She was a prisoner; this was some sort of trick. "I don't believe you."

"You have been frightened, confused, and are angry. It's only natural and I understand. When you called me French Gestapo last night, I didn't respond because we had a mission to carry out. The accusation cut deep into my soul, because we will never allow the filthy Nazis to continue to control France."

She turned facing him, her eyes searching his face for the truth. "Nein, you are lying to me as _he _did."

"Neither of us has lied to you. Last night Bryan promised to explain everything to you until all your questions are answered, the complete truth. Allow him to do so today," LeBeau was gentle.

"That's the name the other man…Joe called him."

"Oui, Joe is our medic."

"I doubt I can trust anything Derrick has to say," Porscha said softly.

"How do you feel about him?"

"I…I don't know," she turned away wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

He moved around in front of her placing his hands on her arms. "How did you feel about him yesterday?" She shook her head not understanding the question. "If someone asked you yesterday morning, how you felt about Derrick, what would you have told them?"

"I…I," unshed tears were in her eyes and she shook her head.

"That you loved him," he supplied with a gentle smile.

"Perhaps yesterday. But now…"

"Hold on to that feeling. He's shed many tears since bringing you here. He carried you in his arms, not allowing anyone to help. Laid you on the cot, got his gloves to keep your hands warm, and placed several blankets on you afraid you'd be cold. This morning he held you in his arms willing you to wake up. As you began to come around, he let Joe be here hoping it would be easier with a neutral face. When you refused to speak with him earlier, I thought he wouldn't survive he shook so hard," LeBeau dropped his hands to his side.

"He did this for me?"

"Oui."

She sighed heavily.

"Let him explain."

"I will listen, but I make no promises."

"That's enough," LeBeau said with a smile and left to get Olsen. Porscha paced nervously waiting.

* * *

Newkirk left the holding area, walking past Hogan and Carter continuing on until they were well past hearing distance. He stopped where they kept their German uniforms. Smitty was on his heels, "Peter, I'm sorry. It wasn't like he said."

"I knew," Newkirk answered looking into his friend's eyes.

"You did?" Smitty swallowed hard unsure how to respond further.

"Rita told me in her letters. We didn't have any secrets. I'm not upset with you or her."

"Wow, if someone slept with Mary Jane, I'd be pissed," Carter said unable to comprehend how calm Newkirk was.*

"We didn't have the same relationship you and Mary Jane had. Rita always told me about every bloke she'd slept with. I haven't exactly been living like a monk and I can't be angry about her finding comfort in times like these. I'd rather she'd been with a friend instead of some bloke out to use her," Newkirk's face shown no malice.

"You're really not angry?" Smitty asked. He'd wanted to tell Newkirk, but the timing never seemed…right.

"Nah. It's old news to me. For a bit when I found out I was angry, but then I had time to think it over."

Hogan studied both men, unsure he'd have the same response. But then the woman he loved, their relationship was similar, only they didn't tell each other the details. "Yes, you are."

"Gov'nor, really I'm not."

"At least around Nottington you're angry with each other," Hogan ordered.

"Sir, I don't understand," Newkirk said.

"Me neither," Carter said. "I mean if Newkirk can forgive. Why would you want him to be angry?"

"For some reason, he needs to set you two against each other. Let's let him think he's succeeded for now," Hogan said.

"To see what he'll do," Smitty said beginning to follow how Hogan's mind worked.

"Precisely. Throw some disgruntled looks in his presence. Maybe we can use this against him instead of him using the situation to his advantage," Hogan said. "It's time I speak with him."

"Do you want company, sir?" Newkirk asked.

"Alone for now will be better. I prefer no one to listen in," Hogan left heading back to the holding area. He stopped before entering taking a few deep breaths. As he entered, he nodded at the guard to leave.

"Well if it isn't my friend from last night. Changed uniforms," Scott stood up facing the Colonel.

"This is more comfortable," Hogan said eyeing the man in front of him carefully. "I'm Colonel Hogan."

"Nice accommodations, sir."

"We like them. Need to talk about the information you've stolen from Allied Command," Hogan sat down on the stool.

"Excuse me sir, you have wrong information," Scott sat down matching Hogan.

"Please explain." _This should be good_, he thought to himself.

"I hate to imagine what you've been told," Scott stopped looking around. "I can only assume this is an Allied base of operations from the uniforms I've seen and an old friend being here."

Hogan nodded his head affirmatively waiting to see what the Englander would come up with as explanation.

"Sir, I've stolen nothing. I'm on a mission on vital importance from British Intelligence," Scott's facial expression indicating he was sincere.

"What's your mission?" Hogan didn't believe a word the man said.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss it."

Hogan sat there not responding hoping to make the man nervous, but at least externally nothing fazed him. "I need more as I'm what stands between you and freedom."

Another piece of the puzzled filled in, finally the man in charge and someone who outranked Smitty. The higher officers usually liked him and he could charm them with little difficulty. Then again, the conversation last night indicated Hogan wouldn't be so easily swayed. He was intelligent and might be a bit of a problem. "Was given decoy information to leak to the Germans. It's imperative that I complete my mission."

"Run it by me from the top," Hogan hoped to gleam something of the truth from the man's story.

"Sir, can anyone else hear our conversation?"

"No, I assure you that we're alone. The men have their orders," Hogan said.

"How many men are in your command?" The size of the operation determined his next move.

"A few. I'm waiting for your mission briefing Corporal Nottington." Hogan crossed his arms, his command face firmly in place.

"Yes sir. I was recruited by MI5 to act as a traitor supplying the Germans with false information about a decoy plan. The hope is they believe me and Allied lives will be saved," Scott tried to cross his legs but the chains gave him issues. "Are the chains really necessary?"

A spin on the tale Nottington hoped would be uncheckable by Hogan and his team. Not unlike something, Hogan himself would try. "For now they are. Who recruited you into MI5?"

"Colonel Robin Stephens.** I've worked for him over the last year and half. He thought I'd be suited to this type of work. He placed me as a courier between the Americans and British Intelligence to see if I was approached by German spies. I was, so we staged a scene where I liberated valuable information. Made my way to Germany with help from the German underground. The bloody bastards are operating in England. They have a highly effective organization back home and we wanted to shut it down. So you can imagine my surprise to be so close to delivering the false information, and then wake up here in Allied hands. Although I must say that, I'm comforted such an operation exists in Germany," Scott said watching Hogan as closely as the Colonel scrutinized him.

"Why would German spies approach a corporal instead of an officer?" Hogan's eyes narrowed slightly as he processed the information.

"As ordered, I made comments about the Nazis might have it right and perhaps England should go to the negotiating table. Said it in the pub after a few beers, and a few other strategically important places. Didn't take long for me to be approached, and for my superiors to put me on a watch list. In their defense sir, they weren't briefed on my true mission. They responded correctly when I started making those comments. Once the spies made contact, I had to follow through to the end," Scott stopped rubbing his temple. Hogan looked at him questioningly but didn't speak. "Just a bit of a headache, sir."

"Side effect of the sedative. I'll see if we have anything in a few minutes. Tell me about Rita," Hogan ordered.

Scott sighed heavily looking down at his hands. When he looked up there was mist in his eyes. "Rita," he started and stopped distress on his face. "Rita is my…was my sister. I shouldn't have gotten her involved; she was trying to help me protect our homeland. There is a traitor we were trying to catch, and I barely escaped with my life. Unfortunately, he shot Rita down like an animal. He tried to spin a tale that I'd shot my only sibling. _I love Rita_. I'd _never _done anything to harm her." He stopped rubbing both hands over his face. "Sir, I know I don't have your trust right now. But please promise me one thing," Scott asked with a tremble in his voice.

"What's that?" Hogan bent forward slightly giving the impression he believed some of the story.

"I've lost Rita and nothing will bring her back. She, Peter, and I grew up close to each other. I've always thought of him as an older brother. Peter's the only family I have left. Please don't let Major Smith murder Peter as he did my sister," Scott said pleading for Newkirk's safety. "Smitty is the real traitor."

Hogan sat back in surprise not expecting that request. "I promise you nothing will happen to Newkirk. I'll send someone in with food and aspirin." Hogan stood leaving the detention cell. He had a lot to consider, and a call to make to London.

* * *

* Mary Jane is from the episode Request Permission to Escape.

** Colonel Robin Stephens was in charge of the program to turn German spies into double agents for MI5 during WW2.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N I want to thank ColHogan for betaing this story.

* * *

"What happened to your grandmother?" Carter asked as the three men sat waiting for the Colonel to return.

Newkirk shook his head looking down at the ground.

* * *

Grams turned 56 years old today; he couldn't imagine living that long. At his age, his Grams seemed ancient. Over a half of a century, everything she'd seen in her life amazed him at times, including living through the Great War. Peter never met his grandfather; he'd been killed in the war. Pictures of the man, who Peter closely resembled, lined the hallway of his Grams' house. She said he and Peter were identical souls and more alike than any two people she'd ever known. Why he missed a man that he'd never met, Peter didn't understand. But he did miss his grandfather. Perhaps because of all the stories his Grams told him, and the character his grandfather had been made him seem alive to Peter. Grams was the stable factor in his short life, the one person he counted on and trusted. He could've nicked a better present, but it didn't seem right stealing something for the one person who believed he was worth anything in this world. He'd worked honest work to buy her a small bottle of the perfume she loved, wrapping it in old newspaper because he had nothing else.

The backdoor stood opened as he walked up, the light shining out into the night. The perfume dropping to the floor with a clang, Peter's mouth hung open taking a step into the kitchen. "Grams?" his voice strained. A scream tore through the silent night, the heart retching sound shook the teen not even realizing such a commotion could emanate from within his body. Shaky legs carried him three steps inside before falling to the ground as his knees collapsed under him. With Peter's vision impaired by the tears streaming down his face, he lifted her head into his lap, her eyes staring blankly into oblivion. Blood pooled around the body, while the light from the overhead single light bulb shined off the instrument of death sticking out from her body. A noise caused him to look up. A neighbor stood in the doorway, a hand over her mouth, shock written over her face and enlarged eyes. "Me…me…Grams," Peter's voice shaky and barely audible.

* * *

"Oh Peter, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize," Carter said placing a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "I didn't mean to bring up such awful memories."

Newkirk shrugged, "It was a long time ago."

"To find someone you loved like that must have been horrible."

"Didn't realize the human body has so much blood until that night," Newkirk looked away no one missing the pain in his eyes.

"Did they catch the guy?"

"He got what was coming to him," Smitty said.

"What's that mean?" Carter asked unsure he wanted the answer.

"What'd ya think it means?" Newkirk asked.

Carter hesitated for a moment. "Even as angry and hurt as you must have been, you did the right thing."

"Andrew," Newkirk said looking him directly in the eye. "You're absolutely right. I did the right thing."

"I knew it. You always do the right thing no matter how angry you are," Carter smiled confident in his friend.

Hogan walked back into the area. "Is Kinch at the radio?"

"Yes, sir," Carter answered.

"Did you get the information Gov'nor?" Newkirk asked grateful for the distraction, as he buried the memories he didn't want to relive deep inside his heart.

"Not everything. I need to talk to London. Carter, have food and aspirin taken into the prisoner. I need everyone upstairs so we can talk after I get off the radio," Hogan ordered.

"Yes, sir, I'll take care of it," Carter said leaving the area.

"Anything we can do, sir?" Smitty asked.

"We'll talk shortly," Hogan answered heading towards the radio room.

Once they were alone Smitty said. "Carter is a bit naïve."

"Part of his charm. He's never to find out we killed Jude," Newkirk said determination in his green eyes.

"Rita is the only other person who knew and will ever know. Jude had it coming, murdering three elderly women while robbing their homes. We did the world a favor," Smitty said. "But we're no longer children, and revenge can't be our justification."

"No we're not," Newkirk said looking away. He didn't want anyone to see that revenge still lived in his heart.

* * *

"Porscha?" Olsen said as he entered the room first ensuring nothing flew in his direction.

"Hello," she looked up from where she'd just finished the food LeBeau brought to her.

"We need to talk," Olsen sat down on the stool next to her cot.

Porscha crossed her arms. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

"I'm not sure where to begin."

"How about with your real name?" Her eyes bore deep into him.

"Yeah that's a good place. My real name is Sergeant Bryan Thomas Olsen of the US Army Air Corps. I was born in a town called Manhattan, New York* in the United States," he began only to be interrupted.

"You're not even German! Is anything you've ever told me true?" She stood pacing the room with her arms crossed. How had she been such a fool?

"Yes! Everything I've told you about growing up in Germany is true. My parents really taught at the university. I lived here from the age of five until fourteen when we left to go back to the United States. I love Germany and always considered it my home." How was he going to make her understand?

"Then why do you fight for the Allies?"

"Because I love Germany and I hate the Nazis. I want Germany to be free of their depressive rule. Growing up, I watched this beautiful country be changed from their laws and brutality. I can't stand by and watch the Gestapo walk all over the people or land," Olsen stayed seated trying to appear less intimidating wanting her to feel secure.

"Then why were you in that uniform last night?" her eyes appeared haunted by the memory and her disdain of that particular organization.

Olsen let out a deep breath before answering. His orders were to only give her as much information as she needed, but not to endanger the operation. His heart said to be completely honest with the woman he loved. "To catch a traitor. The Gestapo were keeping him secured until the Abwehr retrieved him. We showed up before the real escort, and before he delivered vital military intelligence to the Nazis. It was a ruse to protect lives."

"Allied lives."

"And German lives. Protecting the information will help end the war quicker. That's the goal. Rid Germany of the Nazis, and the Gestapo, saving as many lives as possible," he stood walking over to her.

"Do you consider me a fool?" Porscha asked moving away from him not wanting to feel the closeness of his body.

"Never," his heartfelt honesty clearly heard in his voice.

"Why did you ask me out? Was I some type of assignment?"

"Because you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Your gentleness and your personality drew me in like a moth to a light. I couldn't stay away from you."

"Where are we?" She didn't want him to be so charming right now, she was too livid.

"These tunnels are the base of our operations."

"The only Allies in the area are in…" her eyes grew large as realization hit her. "We're under the POW camp?"

Olsen shrugged, "Makes a great cover."

"The camp isn't real? How?"

"No the camp is real, the authorities upstairs just don't know about the downstairs."

"Oh the danger that puts you in if caught!" she shuddered then sat down on the cot. "The man, the traitor, is he here also?"

"Chained in a cell in another part of the tunnels. He can't hurt you."

"I am a prisoner too. There's a guard who won't allow me out of here, although I'm grateful not to be in chains. What is to become of me? I have heard the Allies kill and torture their prisoners. Is that man being tortured?" Porscha asked with a slight tremble.

"No. The Gestapo and the SS have been known to kill and torture prisoners, but the Americans don't. I promised you'd be safe, and I meant it," Olsen said sitting next to her.

"But safe how? As a prisoner in this room? Can I go home?"

"Not yet. The Colonel wants you to have some time to understand the situation." He couldn't tell her what the alternative would be; unsure he'd survive her being in a POW camp.

"To find out if I'm trustworthy." It was all too much. "I need time. Please leave."

Olsen shook his head. "I understand. If you need anything, someone will be available. I'll come by later." He left with a heavy heart wondering what the following days would bring.

Porscha sat going over what he'd said, never imagining she'd be a prisoner of war. The situation dangerous beyond what she ever considered possible. If found by Germans in these tunnels; she'd be shot as a spy. She loved an American. Did that make her a traitor to her own country? Could she stay with Derrick err Bryan? She felt betrayed and unsure which side of the war should prevail.

* * *

"How did it go?" LeBeau asked as Olsen came down the hallway.

"Not well. Everything's a bit overwhelming for her."

"What did you tell her?"

"More than I should have," Olsen said wondering what to do next.

"Le Colonel will not be happy. He wants everyone upstairs for a briefing," LeBeau said as they headed to the barracks ladder.

* * *

"Thank you for taking time to talk to me, General," Hogan said as Butler joined him on the radio.

"Have you caught the traitor?"

"Yes, sir. He's secured and spins a story," Hogan relayed what he'd heard from Scott.

"What do you think?"

"I know Robin personally, and this is the type of ops he would run. All I'm asking is that you check with him to ensure Nottington isn't an undercover agent for MI5," Hogan requested.

"I'll make the inquiry. A lot of people will be in deep trouble if this is a mission gone wrong, and a case of the right hand not knowing what the left hand is doing. Three people are dead who didn't need to die, and critical information is missing," Butler said.

"I understand, sir. Thank you. Hogan out." He terminated the radio connection running a hand through his hair. Scott's story didn't make sense in light of the information he had, but Hogan couldn't take the risk of the man really being an MI5 agent on assignment. They took their assignments past anything Hogan would ever do. He had to be sure. He stood up from the table, walked to over the ladder, and then climbed up the entrance. As he closed the bunk bed behind him, he turned to see all his men gathered around the hut.

"Coffee, mon colonel? LeBeau asked offering him a cup.

"Thanks," Hogan took it sitting down at the head of the table as the rest of the men took their seats.

"What did he say, sir," Kinch asked.

"That's he's on an assignment," Hogan started.

"So he admitted to working for the Nazis?" Newkirk asked.

"Not exactly. Says he's undercover for MI5."

"And you believe the bloody bastard?" Newkirk was irate.

"I didn't say that. I've asked London to contact the man who he says is his handler. He's an old friend, and …well… this almost sounds like something he'd do," Hogan said calmly.

"Scotty murdered Rita," Smitty said disbelieving what he was hearing.

"Which is why I don't believe him," Hogan said. Nor did he believe Smith was a traitor or Newkirk to be in any danger.

"Colonel," Carter looked at his commander with confusion on his face. "What's a handler?"

"It's someone who tells a spy what their mission is and supports them however they need," Hogan answered. He wasn't sure everyone else on his team understood the term, but knew Carter would be the one ask.

"Oh, so you'd be our handler," Carter said pondering through the answer.

"But we're not spies," LeBeau said shaking his head.

"Sometimes we are," Carter defended himself.

"Yes, sometimes we are," Hogan smiled.

"The story he told, what did you think of it, sir?" Smitty asked.

"That I'd spin a similar story if I were in his position. He's cunning and devious," Hogan answered.

"Boy, he sounds like an evil Colonel Hogan," Carter said a little disconcerted by the thought.

"In a lot of ways 'e is, Andrew," Newkirk said looking at his friend. "Never thought about it until you said it, but they are a lot alike."

"So does that make me the good or evil one," Hogan asked his face the picture of calm but inside he was chuckling.

"The good one, Colonel," Carter's face and voice horrified his commander even had to ask.

"Definitely the good side, Gov'nor.

"Too soon to tell," the mirth on Smitty's face making everyone laugh, after all, officers had to have fun too.

"What now, sir?" Kinch asked.

"Our friend changes his affect when speaking with Newkirk and Smitty than when speaking with Olsen or me. Not sure why, but it has to be a clue. Newkirk, when I interrogate him again, I'd like you to accompany me," Hogan ordered.

"Me pleasure, Gov'nor."

"The story he's woven for me, I want to see how it changes with you there. Plus he needs to have confidence that he's burned a bridge between Newkirk and Smitty. Until London comes back with an answer, we'll question him every so often. Keep him off balance. And limit whom he sees to the guards and the core unit, plus Olsen and Smitty as he knows about you two. Don't want him to realize the scope of our operations. Any questions?" Hogan ordered looking at the face of each man.

_Give me a few minutes and I'd have the bastard talking_. Newkirk's thought flashed through his mind and hopefully the Colonel didn't see it on his face. No such luck.

"Newkirk," Hogan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just anxious to back you up, sir. When do you want to try again?"

"Shortly. I'll let you know," Hogan turned to Olsen. "How did it go with Porscha?"

"The situation is a bit overwhelming, so we're taking it slow. She didn't throw anything at me this time," Olsen said with a sad smile.

"Keep me informed. I'll have a discussion with her in a day or two. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"She loves flowers. How mad would Klink be?" Olsen asked half-afraid of hoping.

Hogan smiled and nodded his head. The difference in the two prisoners; one they all wanted to pummel, the other deserving flowers from Klink's prized garden. "Be careful and don't get caught. Spend as much time as you can with her, but don't neglect your other duties. That goes for everyone. Make an appearance outside so the Germans don't become suspicious." He heard a chorus of affirmative answers.

"Thank you, sir," Olsen was all smiles planning which flowers to swipe.

* * *

*Snooky 9093 gave Olsen Manhattan as his hometown in The Outside Man.


	10. Chapter 10

"Carter, what are you doing?" Kinch asked closing the door to the hut behind him.

"Booby trapping Newkirk's locker," Carter replied with a grin.

"He's going to be royally pissed," Kinch said with a hint of amusement and his left eyebrow pointing towards the sky.

"For a few minutes and then he'll laugh. He needs to laugh." Carter placed the final touches on the joke.

"This might start a whole chain of practical jokes," Kinch had an amused grin on his face.

"As long as I don't get the blue dye again. That took forever to wear off," Carter said with a thoughtful look then added. "But it did make Newkirk laugh for days, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad."*

"You're a good friend Andrew," Kinch said with a warm smile. Wondering whom else would look good with the blue dye. He wouldn't hit Carter with it this time, possibly LeBeau. How would Smitty take to their joking streak? A blue officer would be hilarious.

* * *

"They're lovely, thank you," Porscha placed the crystal vase of white and yellow chamomile, and the most beautiful yellow daffodils, her favorite flower on the table. Klink's garden only had half-dead daffodils left in it. Hopefully, the Kommandant wouldn't miss the vase.

"When the chamomile dries, LeBeau makes a wonderful tea from the petals. It's calmed many a nerves," Olsen said pleased she smiled.

"He's your friend Louis that you've spoken of many times?" she asked. Olsen nodded his head yes. "Would it be permissible for us to take a walk?"

"Sure," Olsen said leading her out of her room understanding her pent up energy.

"How big is this place?" She asked as they took the tunnel heading away from the main area. Her eyes wandered across the tunnel where lights ran every so often giving enough light to see the pathway. An electric line ran between the single light bulbs. Arrows pointed in the opposite direction they traveled.

"We've joked about getting a train and turning this place into a subway station. If you stick to the back parts, you can get a good run in down here. Up front, there's too much traffic." He wanted to reach for her hand but was afraid to push too soon.

"The arrows?" she asked pointing towards one.

"How to get out in case of an emergency. Until you've spent enough time down here, you can get lost. As more tunnels and connectors were built, we found men became confused on the way out, so the arrows were added. Don't worry, we won't get lost and someone is usually around who can point you in the correct direction." They continued their slow walk, his heart glad to be with her, but as shredded as hers had to be at the situation.

"You said Louis makes chamomile tea to help others. I'm sure being in a POW camp has to be nerve wracking, plus your extra activities outside the camp. What all do you do besides being a prisoner?"

Olsen took in and let out a deep breath formulating an answer. "Mostly I gather intelligence, troop movements, and such."

"Is that what you're doing in town?"

"Or the excuse I give to get out and come see you as often as possible," he smiled gently at her.

"You've risked your life every time we've been together?" emotions flashed across her face, he could only read concern, worry, and something more. His heart hoped love.

"Every trip that I get to be with you makes it worth the risks. I'm careful and my cover identity has held up under scrutiny."

She stopped walking facing him. "The longer the war goes on the…_they_…become more determined to find traitors and spies."

He caressed the side of her cheek with one finger. "You're worth any peril."

She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and began walking again. "The other men, what do they do?"

"We have assignments from London, plus anything we can that will shorten the war."

"The sabotage in the area?"

"Sometimes. Not all of it though," he answered.

"I've seen the victims brought into the hospital. Most mere boys, children who shouldn't be in uniform…their bodies torn apart after bombs went off," the memories clearly haunting as she involuntarily shuddered.

"War is ugly. Politicians start war, never getting close to what actually takes place. Ordinary people hurt in ways no one should. I hate war," his voice conveying the conviction of his words.

"So do I. A few months ago, a factory blew up and a friend of mine's father worked there. He was killed in the explosion. Everyone working there were civilians. Did you have anything to do with that?" She stopped looking him directly in the eyes.

"I remember they were building cannons**. No, I had nothing to do with the explosion. Wasn't it ruled an accident? Something to do with the gun powder being stored improperly," he said.

"Officially, but there were rumors. Did the other men have anything to do with the explosion?" she deadpanned him.

"I promise you that we would never hit anything except a military target. I'm sorry your friend lost her father, it's a tragedy. The one good thing is that a lot of families will get their fathers, sons, and brothers back because those cannons will not be killing people," Olsen said. He hated to lie to her, but if he told her the truth, he would cross a line the Colonel couldn't forgive. He heard both Hogan's and LeBeau's voices in his head to protect the unit.

She seemed to accept his answer with a nod of her head. They walked to the end of the corridor turning a corner. "What will happen to that man you kidnapped? What's his name?"

"Scott Nottington. He will be sent to England where he'll stand trial for murder and treason. He killed his own sister a couple of weeks ago."

"Sounds like a dangerous man. What will happen to him after the trial?" she asked as they came to a ladder leading upstairs.

"Depends on the penalty the courts decide upon if he's found guilty. And he is guilty. Our job was to capture him, retrieve the information, and send him safely back to England," Olsen said leaning against the ladder.

She shook her head digesting the information wondering if trials in England were different from ones in Germany. A question she didn't want to ponder at the moment. "I suppose the ladders are to the surface," she asked and Olsen nodded yes. "Where did you get the wood to line the tunnels? They seem to stretch on endlessly."

"A lot of woodland had to be cleared for the farmers to plant food for the war effort. The military uses prisoners to clear the land. Some of the wood goes to heat the barracks; the rest ends up down here to ensure against cave-ins." Olsen immediately regretted that last word as her eyes enlarged with worry. "We're safe. The engineers built these tunnels to be safe. Early on we had a few issues, but after we were able to get the wood there's not been a problem."

"Olsen, got a minute?" Mills asked coming out of a room off the corridor.

"Sure. Would you excuse me for a moment?" he said to Porscha as he moved around the corner out of hearing distance.

Porscha decided to peek into the room Mills came from, she saw a cell with the man from last night in it. "Hallo."

"Fraulein, are you all right? You looked so scared last night," Scott said with concern in his voice.

"This entire experience has been frightening."

"Guess neither one of us ended up where we thought. Have they hurt you?"

"Nein. Are you all right?" she asked concern in her eyes. She could see a tray with most of the food consumed on the table. A canteen, she could only assume held water lay on the cot.

"I am. What did you do for them to kidnap you? If you don't mind me asking," Scott's voice was low and he stood close to the bars.

"Saw something I shouldn't have. What about you?" She wondered if the stories would be the same.

"My crime is that I'm trying to help Germany win the war," he said with a sad smile. "Can you tell me how many people you've seen?"

"Maybe ten or eleven, no more."

"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Scott Nottington."

"Porscha Herz."

"Pleased to meet you. At least they're letting you walk around," he pointed the chain attached to his ankles. She followed said chain to the wall where it was secured. The expression on her face made him reach through the bars and gently squeeze her hand. "It's okay."

"Do you know what they're going to do with us? I want to go home. My family has no idea what's happened. They have to be terrified," her voice trembled slightly. There was something about the Englander that was endearing.

"We'll both get out of here. Perhaps it's best if they don't see us together," he said. She nodded her head and turned to leave. He called out to her softly. "Porscha, don't worry, I won't leave here without you and will do everything I can to get you home safely to your family."

Porscha went back to the ladder leaning against it as Olsen and Mills came around the corner.

"I'm sorry that took so long. Shall we head back?" Olsen asked. She nodded her head yes, as she slipped her hand into his hand. If she believed Bryan, she was a traitor to her country. If she helped Scott, she was a loyal German. Whom did she believe, Bryan or Scott?

* * *

"Newkirk, Scott may try to make you angry, but don't let him. If he needles you about Smitty and Rita, it's okay to show some anger. Can you handle it?" Hogan asked as they walked towards the prisoner's cell.

"Yes, Gov'nor. No need to worry about me," Newkirk responded. He'd handled Scott his entire life.

They entered the room; Nottington lay on his back on the cot. His hands behind his head, one leg bent at the knee with the other leg lying across his knee to the extent the chains allowed. His eyes closed and a smile on his face.

"Time to wake up," Newkirk said hitting the bars with his hand, they rattled slightly.

"Didn't hear you come in, was day dreaming about a girl I met," Scott said sitting up. He much preferred Porscha's company to these two.

"The bird 'as to wait," Newkirk said taking a stand next to the colonel who stood out of range of the bars in case Nottington decided to grab for them.

"Too bad, she's a good lookin' bird," Scott smirked.

"The decoy plans you were delivering to the Germans. Where are they?" Hogan asked.

"The fake ones, sir?" Scott asked standing up.

"The ones you were giving them in Berlin," Hogan clarified not wanting to play word games on which plans.

"They're secured. The Germans can't get their hands on them," Scott answered.

"I need to get my hands on them. Where can I find them?"

"Not so fast. They're my leverage," Scott looked amused.

"You bloody bastard, tell the Gov'nor what he wants to know!"

"Why should I? What's 'e done for me?" Scott threw back at Newkirk. He'd never known Newkirk call anyone a Gov'nor in his life. He had no idea what to make of it.

Hogan put a hand on Newkirk's arm to calm him. "If we're on the same side, why do you need leverage?"

"Because, I intend upon carrying out my mission and the Germans will need to get that information. What do the Germans think happened to me?" Scott asked.

"Don't know," Hogan paced in front of the cell.

"I 'ave a question. If you were on a mission for MI5 then why did you kill the Bobbies transporting the information?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Scott said with confusion on his face.

"The MPs transporting the information you stole were murdered," Hogan clarified wondering why Scott's speech pattern changed when he spoke to Newkirk. Which was real? He'd bet the cockney accent that came out was the true Nottington. A piece of information Hogan would use to his advantage.

"Sir, I knocked them out, but they were alive and breathing when I left. Had to make the spies who were watching me believe the information I had was real. If something happened to them after I left, I'm not aware. Possibly the traitor we discussed earlier is at fault," Scott said wondering if Hogan had doubts about Smitty yet.

"Where is the information so we can ensure its safety?" Hogan asked once more.

"Not so fast, Colonel. I'm still a prisoner, and as I'm the only person who knows the location I need to be released," Scott said.

Before Hogan could answer, Smitty walked into the room. Newkirk threw him a glare that should have done serious harm. Smitty swallowed hard before speaking, his eyes diverting downward for a second. Nottington enjoyed seeing the rift between the friends.

"Sir, an honored guest has arrived," Smitty said looking directly at Hogan not allowing the smirk he had inside for the misdirection to Nottington show.

"I thought I was the honored guest," Scott said.

"You wish," Newkirk said sarcastically as he and Hogan followed Smitty out of the area.

"Who's this honored guest?" Hogan asked once they were out of hearing range.

"Hochstetter and two other Gestapo just came into camp," Smitty replied.

"Great," Hogan ran a hand over his face. "That's all we need today."

* * *

*My story A Day at Stalag 13

** Episode Swing Shift


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. Real life has gotten in the way. I'm now able to get back to the story with more regular updates. Have the next 2 chapters almost complete.

* * *

"Colonel Hogan, how good of you to join us," Hochstetter said with a smile that looked like a grinning hyena about to devour its prey. He stood next to the door as Hogan walked inside the Kommandant's office.

"Major. Captain," Hogan acknowledged Hochstetter and Fuchs, who stood near the window in the office. "You wanted to see me Kommandant?"

"I wanted to see you, Hogan," Hochstetter said as he closed the door circling around the back of Hogan making the Colonel move closer to Klink's desk.

"I didn't realize you cared so much, Major," came Hogan's flippant response.

"Show respect when you're talking to an officer of a superior race," Fuchs said in tone that caused Klink to cringe. His steel blue eyes bore dangerous daggers into the Allied Colonel.

"I'll remember that when I meet such a race," Hogan said. Fuchs took a menacing step towards Hogan, who took two steps backwards.

Hochstetter raised a hand stopping his second in command. "I don't think the Colonel will be so arrogant in a moment."

"What is this all about?" Klink asked bile rising in his throat.

"Yes, I'm curious too," Hogan wrapped his arms around himself in a nonchalant attitude. Fuchs took another step closer to him, but Hogan held his ground matching Fuchs' stare for a moment then looked downward. Fuchs's left pinky finger was bent upwards indicating this was nothing to worry about in his opinion. How the man bent his pinky finger the way most people moved their index finger, Hogan never understood. He'd tried many times to emulate the posture but wasn't able to bend his pinky without one or more of his other fingers bending at the same time. The two friends created the code a year ago which worked well most of the time.

Hochstetter smirked at Hogan giving in to Fuchs's stare. The Captain stood a good eight inches taller than he did, and could be quite intimidating. Hogan would stand up to Hochstetter, but sometimes Fuchs' ability to intimidate made Hogan back down slightly, which was why the Major brought his second in command on these trips. "A person of interest was taken out of Gestapo custody last night."

"Sorry to hear you lost a prisoner. Not sure how I can help you though," Hogan said facing the Major.

"I didn't say he was a prisoner. However, the man who took him will be a prisoner of mine very shortly," Hochstetter continued walking around the office, almost as if he was too excited to stand still.

"You lost another person in your custody?" Klink sounded gleeful nearly laughing.

"Not for long," Hochstetter glared at the Kommandant.

"Of course not," Klink wilted under the stare.

"Why did you want to see me Major?" Hogan asked.

"There were witnesses to the kidnapping and the description fits Colonel Hogan. When did you shave off your mustache?" Hochstetter asked.

"Colonel Hogan has never had a mustache. I spoke with him after roll call last evening and you can clearly see he doesn't have one now," Klink spoke up. Hogan nodded his head in agreement grateful last night he wasn't wearing a mustache. They'd darkened his skin and applied makeup giving him several scars so no true identification was possible.

Hochstetter ignored Klink. "They're easily applied for short term use. Would you like to confess now or wait until the witness identifies you?"

Hogan rubbed his chin with his thumb and fore finger appearing to be in deep thought. "Gee, I don't have anything to confess. Unless…"

"Yes," Hochstetter said. "Unless what?"

"I hate to be the one to tell you, but someone should. The skull and crossbones on your uniform just doesn't give the right appearance. Someone will believe you're not a nice group of people," Hogan said shaking his head.

Fuchs raised a hand as if to strike Hogan for the remark.

"Captain!" Klink yelled. "Control yourself or I'll have you escorted out of my camp." Fuchs put his arm down with a scowl on his face.

Obviously, Fuchs needed the points with his boss to make this work, which Hogan understood. He gave Fuchs a preplanned signal. Fuchs tilted his head sideways agreeing the plan was necessary, but it didn't make the Captain feel any better about his next actions. Hogan indicated he would play along and make what was to come seem much worse than reality.

"You won't be so insolent in a moment," Hochstetter smirked. He walked to the closed office door, and then opened it. "Private, come here." A young private entered whom Hogan recognized as one of the guards from last night. "Is this the man who took Herr Nottington?"

"Nein, Herr Major."

"Nein?" Hochstetter was enraged. "What do you mean nein?"

"The man wasn't this tall and much younger. His hair was cut shorter also," the Private said.

"Take a closer look and make sure," Hochstetter ordered.

The Private moved nearer to Hogan looking him over carefully. "I'm sorry Herr Major, but this man is much older, taller, and his eyes are the wrong color of brown."

Hogan let out a breath he'd held unconsciously. Olsen berated the Private for spilling soup on his uniform, and clearly, the man only remembered Olsen. Fuchs must have chosen who came out to identify Hogan. Without a positive identification, Fuchs needed the leverage to ensure the other two weren't brought out. One of them might be able to ID Hogan. Now everything was beginning to make sense and he'd play along his part in the ruse.

"Wait in the car!" Hochstetter ordered in an angry tone. The private meekly left the office.

"Your man didn't identify Hogan because he wasn't there. No one gets out of camp without my knowledge. I suggest you leave," Klink said braver than he felt.

"Major, you really need a hobby. You give me too much credit. If I escaped, I'd never return. Shouldn't that be obvious to you?" Hogan said condescendingly.

"Hooooogan," Klink's tone warned the American to stop before he got in trouble.

"You will not speak to the Major in such a manner!" Fuchs defended his boss.

"I'm just saying it only makes sense," Hogan continued.

"One of these days you will go too far," Hochstetter sneered.

"I get it. You have to make it look good for the boss. If they're gonna buy your fixation on me, then we'll have no problems winning the war. Sounds like you and the German command could use some lessons in logic," Hogan laughed.

"_Hoogan_," Hochstetter gritted his teeth.

In one swift move, Fuchs punched Hogan in the gut knocking the wind out of the man. With an 'oomph' Hogan doubled over. Another punch to his upper body had Hogan falling backwards on the floor overturning a chair. "You will learn respect for the Gestapo," Fuchs said making his way over as to kick the downed prisoner.

"HALT!" Klink yelled. Fuchs froze in mid stride. "Major, take your man and leave my camp! You're not allowed back in here without written permission from General Burkhalter, whom I will be calling."

With a huge grin on his face at seeing Hogan on the floor, Hochstetter put a hand on Fuchs' arm. "Come Captain. We've done enough for today." They both turned leaving the office. As they exited the exterior door, Hochstetter could be heard saying. "How about a beer, Captain?"

"Hogan," Klink leaned down by the American obvious concern in his voice. Hogan's eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.

"What happened Herr Kommandant?" Schultz asked from the doorway his eyes enlarged with worry.

"Schultz, bring Sergeant Wilson here immediately," Klink ordered.

"Jawohl."

"I'm all right. I don't need a medic," Hogan said rolling over on his back and rubbing his chest.

Klink helped Hogan sit up. "I knew your mouth would get you in trouble one day and it has. Why do you insist upon antagonizing the Gestapo? Hochstetter is bad enough, but his trained dog is the worst. Even Hochstetter can barely control him."

"Well you know me, Kommandant," Hogan said with a sly grin.

"Only too well. I should have you thrown in the cooler for a week," Klink's face was hard. He'd been scared Hogan was seriously hurt and he'd be blamed. Burkhalter would send him to the Russian Front for allowing the Gestapo to injure a prisoner.

Hogan grimaced as he stood up catching his breath. He slowly sat down in the chair Schultz picked up off the floor. The sergeant left the room closing the door behind him.

Klink's adrenaline rush was wearing off, as he sat in his chair, making him shake. "What am I to do with you?"

"I agree with you. Fuchs is one hothead without a sense of humour. How was I to know he'd react that way," Hogan rubbed his ribs gingerly.

"I hope you've truly learned your lesson. However, I'm still confining you to the barracks for two days," Klink said as he stood walking to his side table. He poured two drinks, then handed one to Hogan before sitting down in his chair again.

"I don't deserve two days confinement," Hogan said drinking half the glass in one shot.

"You deserve a week, a month! Just for the amount of paperwork this has created. Get out of here and I need the medic's report in two hours for General Burkhalter." The look on Hogan's face made him add. "Or I can confine you to the cooler and have him examine you there."

"No sir, that won't be necessary," Hogan said, pleased Klink would contact the General. "Kommandant, thank you for stopping him from doing anything more."

"You're welcome. Now go before I change my mind about the cooler," Klink ordered. Hogan might protest his confinement as unfair, but Klink believed it would give the Colonel some time to heal after the Gestapo's visit, and help Hogan save face in front of his men.

Hogan finished his drink, then stood giving Klink a little better than normal salute before leaving the office. He nodded at Schultz that everything was all right, as he left the building. Since the Gestapo couldn't return, he was free to deal with Nottington. The confinement allowed him to be in the tunnel for hours without Klink worrying where Hogan was. Things worked out nicely, he'd tell Fuchs thanks the next time they saw each other. Now to deal with his men. The door to the barracks opened as he approached. Every man in the hut wore the same expression, a mixture of fury and fear for the Colonel's well-being.

"What the bloody hell got into Fuchs?" Newkirk's angry voice rose above the rest.

"No kraut can be trusted," Smitty said vindicated in his hesitation of the Captain.

Hogan held his hands up to quiet them down. "I'm fine. No damage was done. He told me what was coming and that little display got rid of the Gestapo for a while. We made it appear worse for appearance sake."

"Sir, we were listening and Fuchs didn't say much," Kinch said.

"Used signals we've worked out in the past. I know everyone is worried but seriously, my six-year-old niece hits harder than Fuchs hit me. I'm fine," Hogan tried to placate them.

"I'll be the judge of that," Wilson said stepping out from behind Kinch.

"No need to waste your time," Hogan said in his command voice. He suspected Wilson would already be in the hut.

"As I understand, Klink ordered a report from me in two hours. Have to examine you to write the report. Plus the exam will calm the men," Wilson said holding his ground. He moved so the Colonel could enter his room.

"Under great protest and only for the report," Hogan rolled his eyes knowing he wouldn't get out of this one. He followed the medic into his office closing the door behind them.

A half hour later, both men exited Hogan's office. Wilson informed the men there was no serious damage and they could all relax. His official report would state otherwise.

Hogan took a cup of coffee from LeBeau sitting down at the table. "Newkirk, I need your help with Nottington tomorrow. Are you ready to turn the tables on him?"

"Anytime Gov'nor," he replied with a wicked grin.


	12. Chapter 12

Newkirk sat slouched on the bench in front of the barracks, his back at an angle with his head laying against the building, his legs spread wide in front, and his hands clasped lightly behind his head. The men playing a game of soccer in front of the building, but Schultz doubted the Englander even saw the movement. He continued to study the blue clad corporal before walking over, and sitting down beside him.

"Newkirk?" Schultz said after a moment of not being noticed.

Newkirk was clearly startled as he sat up straight. "Blimey, where did you come from? You could give a man a heart attack sneaking up on 'im."

"I sat down a few minutes ago. You didn't notice," Schultz said gently.

Newkirk sighed, shrugging his shoulders, "Sorry."

"What's going on with you? You've been sad for days," concern shown on the large sergeant's face.

"Nothin'."

"Newkirk," Schultz said with a knowing look. "I can tell when a man is in pain. Tell Schultzie, what's wrong."

"Do you remember the RAF transit prisoners who came through last week?"

"Ja. Do you miss them?"

"Nah, but I knew one. We grew up together. He gave me some bad news about someone we grew up with," Newkirk said trying to keep his voice even.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's hard to lose a friend. Was he shot down?"

"Was a bird. Liked her a lot."

"That's terrible. Many innocent people are being hurt by the bombs. Sooner the war is over, the better," Schultz put a comforting hand on Newkirk's arm.

"Thanks. It wasn't a bomb, but the war killed her."

"You're not considering doing anything dumb like trying to escape to go to her funeral, are you?" Schultz raised his eyebrow.

"No, that was a while back. Nothing I can do for her now," Newkirk lowered his head blinking his eyes to keep the moisture away.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"I'd just like to be alone for a while. I'm not planning an escape. Promise. Just remembering the times we had together," Newkirk managed a weak smile.

"Okay. If you decide you want some company, I'm around," Schultz said standing up and walking away feeling sad for the Englander he considered a friend.

"Whatcha doing?" Carter asked coming out of the barracks, closing the door behind him a moment later. He took a seat next to his best friend, having overheard the conversation with Schultz.

"Nothin," Newkirk said melancholically shifting slight for Carter to sit on the bench.

Carter studied his friend who kept staring unseeing into the compound. After several quiet moments, he asked. "Tell me a story about you and Rita."

"Why?"

"I want to hear more about her," Carter said trying to sound causal. If Newkirk knew his true motives his mate would shut down, but Newkirk needed to work through his grief. Talking about his girl was a good start.

Newkirk shifted for a moment, "I remember the day the war started."

* * *

"You look beautiful," Peter kissed Rita on the cheek as she met him down the street from her home. "Is that new?" He eyed the pretty red dress that defined her curves in ways he admired. The dress had buttons lining down the front, and he thought how much fun unbuttoning the dress would be as he followed the skirt down to show her legs.

"Yes, I've been working on it all summer to get it just right to wear for fall. Not as quick a sewer as my grandma, although she did help me with it," Rita smiled the smile that drove Newkirk out of his mind. "Do you really like it?"

"Of course I do," Peter suggestively wagged his eyebrows.

"If war comes, this may be the last new thing I have for a while," she said with a hint of anxiety in her eyes.

"Doubt the war would last long," Peter said shrugging his shoulders.

"You mean Germany will do to England what it did to Czechoslovakia?" she asked with suspicious and fearful eyes.

"Nah, we'd wipe them out of the land and this time hoist the Union Jack over Germany within a few months," Peter said then added in a comic tone. "If Germany has a Stone of Scone like the Scots, then King George will be sittin' on it before the end of the year." Rita laughed heartily at his antics, which made Peter's grin wider. He accomplished his goal.

"What's so funny?" Scotty asked joining the pair.

"Nothin'," Rita said then to Peter asked. "I promised Scotty he could tag-a-long, is that okay?"

"Sure," Peter said wishing the lad would get lost. It would be harder to accomplish his goal with the little brother hanging around.

"Good. Let's go," Rita took hold of both boys' arms as they walked down the street towards the market place. A carefree smile on her face with her favorite boys at her side.

Their first stop was tossing darts at a local hangout. Peter scored bull eyes constantly, while Scotty kept trying but never scored high enough for bragging rights. Peter gave him some money and sent him to get them all a drink, as he and Rita wandered outside with Peter's arm draped across Rita's shoulders. The sun was shining, a nice change in the weather making today perfect, as Peter fingered the small box in his jacket pocket. He smiled anticipating her reaction when he presented it to her. Now to find the right spot.

A crowd gathered around a shop, so the couple made their way over hearing Prime Minister Chamberlain's voice on the wireless. Everyone was silent hanging on to each word. Rita held Peter's hand so tight, she was cutting off the circulation.

"What's going on?" Scotty asked handing the drinks over. Rita shushed him not taking her drink.

Her eyes met Peter's both enlarged with worry. War. They were at war. Peter reached over pulling her tightly to himself. A lump in his own throat. He'd thought Hitler would back down and they'd never see war in his lifetime. Not after the Great War which his grandfather gave his life for King and Country. The war which was supposed to have ended all wars. Now England found herself at war with the same bloody Germans again? He'd listened to all the broadcast about Germany taking over countries. But how anyone in their right mind believed they could take on the countries that had whooped their arse so completely in the Great War boggled the mind. Was Hitler insane? Did he think France and Britain would back down? Rita trembled in his arms, he kissed the top of her head whispering it would be all right.

Rita held onto Peter. War. _War had come_. She'd known since Germany began acting up this day would come and it terrified her. Sure her grandparents generation had beaten the German's down, but could they do it again with all the modern advances in warfare? In the Great War, everyone fought on horseback, or in great trenches until the tanks rolled out in the later days of the war. She'd spent a lot of time listening to her grandfather's stories of the war. She knew the toll the haunted memories sometimes took on him. Her grandfather was the same age as Peter when he entered the army. Peter would have to go fight. Would he survive? Many wouldn't. Her grandfather lost good friends during the last war. Thoughts of losing Peter made her tremble. If he came back, would he be the same boy she loved?

Scotty sat the drinks on a counter looking around at the shocked, confused, and frightened faces in the crowd. A grin on his face. War, _jolly good fun_. After all, didn't King Edward like that Hitler fellow? What he'd heard about him, the man seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. Too bad King Edward stepped down to marry his wife.* Scotty wondered why the King didn't simply keep Wallis Simpson as a mistress. Lots of kings had mistresses, and giving up that much power for a woman was stupid in the young teen's eyes. The speed Hitler had used in a couple of places to take over meant that England wouldn't stand a chance against the enemy forces, giving Scotty an opportunity to meet Hitler. Or he'd make one somehow, the thought caused his grin to grow.

The radio announcer kept giving out information about what would come in the near future. Some people listened, other cried silently, still others wept loudly. All fools in Scotty's mind. He watched Peter holding his sister. Peter was okay, because he kept Rita busy and would give him money to scamper off. When she was with her boyfriend, she wasn't poking her nose into Scotty's business. He managed nicely when she was occupied elsewhere. His eyes darted in their direction once more. Maybe he could sneak out in the confusion.

"Scotty," his sister's shaking voice said as she reached over pulling him close to her. "Don't be afraid. It's going to be okay."

"I'm not afraid," he tried to wrangle free from her grip. "Let go. I want to go check on mum and pops."

She placed both hands on his shoulders trying to smile through her tears. "Good idea. Go straight home and don't stop to talk to anyone. Tell mum, I'll be home later. Will you be all right walking home alone?"

"I'm nearly fifteen not five years old," annoyance clear in his voice. Rita smiled letting go of him watching until he was out of sight.

Peter put his arm around her, "He'll be all right." He'd be shocked if the kid went home before nightfall. They stayed at the wireless listening with the others. A few minutes later, the air raid sirens went off. A sense of urgency filled the streets as people moved into the air raid shelters. Peter guided Rita towards a quiet area in the back. He'd scoped the local shelters out in recent weeks.

"Wish I hadn't let Scotty go home alone. Mum tried to get him on a train, but he's too old or most likely from too poor a family," Rita fretted settling into his arms.

"I'm sure he's safe in your mum's arms in another shelter," Peter said not believing a word he said.

A loud bang caused both teens to jump. "Is that what a bomb will sound like?" Rita asked trembling.

"I'm sure it'll be louder," Peter said nuzzling the side of her neck.

"Don't. Please."

"We need to keep our minds occupied while waiting. Keeps us calm," he tried again.

"I'm too scared," she pulled back fright filled eyes peering deep into his. "What do you think it will be like?"

Peter hated fear in those green eyes, it made him feel helpless. "I don't know."

"You'll be called up to fight."

"I'm going to join the services tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Wanna get in on the ground floor before all the good spots are gone," he said with a chuckle trying to calm her. He couldn't stand to see her so scared and had to help stop the madness. He'd singlehandedly save England from the war to never see fear in those perfect green eyes again. The ring in his pocket stayed hidden from sight.

* * *

"Why didn't you ask her to marry you right then?" Carter asked.

"Cause I was convinced the war wouldn't last long. And if I didn't come back, it wouldn't have been fair to Rita to be a young widow," Newkirk shrugged his shoulders.

"I understand. Nearly asked Mary Jane to marry me before I left, but didn't for similar reasons. Glad I didn't now," Carter said shaking his head in understanding. "What happened to the ring?"

"Asked Mavis to keep it for me. Suppose she's still got it. I'm going to take a walk," Newkirk said leaving Carter sitting on the bench. Dusk was approaching and Newkirk would be herded back to the hut by the guards soon. Carter allowed him have his privacy to get his emotions under control.

* * *

* it dot Wikipedia dot org/wiki/Edward_VIII


	13. Chapter 13

Morning roll call had been longer than usual. Klink's long-winded speech of the glorious news of the Luftwaffe superiority had Hogan at his breaking point.

"Kommandant, we saw some Luftwaffe planes limping back yesterday," Hogan started interrupting Klink. He had more pressing issues to deal with today.

"Minor damage is to be expected," Klink glared at his counterpart.

"The one trailing black smoke didn't look minor," Hogan said then added with a wicked grin. "Nor the one with half a wing gone."

"Dissssmissssed," Klink huffed, turning, and marching back to his office glad he wouldn't have to deal with Hogan until tonight's roll call. Hogan's confinement had privileges for the Kommandant.

"That's tellin' em Gov'nor," Newkirk laughed as they entered the hut.

"Why's he being nasty today?" Olsen asked.

"He's happy because the Gestapo won't be back for a while," Hogan said as the door to the hut closed.

"How long will that last?" Kinch asked.

"Not forever unfortunately. Perhaps long enough to finish this mission. Kinch, contact London for an update. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my office working," Hogan said then closed his office door.

Mid-morning, Hogan came out of his office. "LeBeau, gather the men. We need a council of war."

"Oui, mon Colonel," LeBeau answered leaving.

Hogan refilled his coffee cup, then stood near his door stretching his sore back, from being bent over the paperwork all morning. His men filled in from outside and down in the tunnel.

"Oh this is going to be good. I can tell from the grin on your face Gov'nor," Newkirk said with a matching grin.

"Right you are," Hogan said folding his arms around his midsection. "Gentlemen, I need a volunteer."

Smitty looked around in confusion at the men as each member of Hogan's crew looked anywhere except at the Colonel keeping their mouths closed tightly. He moved away from the bunk bed he'd been leaning against to set his cup down on the table. "Now don't everyone speak up at once." Every man in the barracks turned towards the officer grinning. "What?"

"Thanks for volunteering, Smitty," Hogan said with a satisfied grin.

"Huh?" Smitty's vocabulary failing him momentarily.

"That's how it works mate. The first person to utter a word after the Gov'nor says volunteer, is the volunteer," Newkirk grinned.

"Fair's fair. You were the first!" Carter grinned as the rest of the men chimed in with similar sentiments.

Smitty nodded his head. "Interesting method. I'll have to remember it for my men."

"Those poor bâtards," LeBeau said shaking his head.

"So what have I _volunteered_ for, sir?" Smitty asked uncomfortable with the grin on the Colonel's face.

"First, we need to determine how you'll do it. Carter, did we have any of those short term sleeping pills we used on General von Treger left over?*" Hogan asked.

"Yes, sir. A couple of dozen, Wilson has them and if needed I can make more."

"That's plenty. When we're finished get them. LeBeau, when's lunch?" Hogan asked turning towards the Frenchman.

"Not for a couple of hours, but I can make you something now if you're hungry," LeBeau had been concerned when Hogan skipped breakfast.

"It's not for me. Need a reason to take food and coffee down to Nottington, so we can slip a sleeping pill to him," Hogan said.

"He hasn't had breakfast yet," LeBeau said.

"Has Porscha?" Hogan asked with narrowed eyes.

"Of course, hers was taken to her hot," LeBeau said proudly.

"So why didn't Nottington eat when she did?" Hogan asked with accusing eyes.

LeBeau shrugged his shoulders, "I was busy feeding the rest of the men. Was about to take it when you came out of your office."

"From now on, Nottington gets his food before serving Porscha. And that's a direct order," Hogan's eyes were hard.

"Oui, mon Colonel," LeBeau had the good grace too look chastised even if he didn't agree with the order.

"Wait," Hogan said pacing, "This just might work. LeBeau, prepare his breakfast and doctor his coffee so he'll fall asleep. Smitty, you take the food into him. And if he tries to say anything about Rita and Newkirk, let him have the upper hand for the moment. Can you handle it?"

"Yes, sir. Not a problem," Smitty answered.

LeBeau went to the stove to warm up the coffee, as hot coffee would help hide the flavor of the sleeping pill. He searched for a matchbook near the stove, and patting down his pockets, not finding one, he turned to Newkirk. "Mon ami, do you have a match?"

Newkirk checked his pockets. "No, but there's a new book in my locker."

"I'll get it," LeBeau said going to the cabinet.

Kinch put a hand on Carter's shoulder shaking his head no trying to hide an amused grin. Carter understood and stepped far out of the LeBeau's way watching.

LeBeau opened Newkirk's locker and a confetti bomb exploded. Pieces of colored paper and glitter sprayed all over his face and clothing. "NEWKIRK!" He turned to see the entire barracks laughing hysterically. "You did that on purpose," the anger in his voice prominent.

"No, mate, I really didn't," Newkirk laughed so hard tears came out of his eyes. "I think that was meant for me. No idea who did it, but I needed a laugh like this, and the expression on your face is priceless." He continued to chuckle.

"Who?" LeBeau fumed looking at each man. "Do you know how long it will take to get the glitter out of my clothes?"

"You look better that way," Kinch said laughingly.

"Did you do this?"

"No," Kinch shook his head.

"Carter? Was this your doing?" LeBeau demanded.

"Why is it when there's any type of bomb, I get blamed," he asked still laughing.

"When I find out who…," LeBeau trailed off.

"It was a good practical joke. We need to give credit, where credit's due. But we have a job to do now," Hogan said reigning in his laughter, wondering if this would start of a string of jokes. "LeBeau, when will the meal be ready?"

"A few minutes, sir," he was still fuming examining the faces of his bunkmates for the guilty party.

"What's your plan, sir?" Kinch asked curiosity written on his face.

"Gentlemen, this is what we're going to do," Hogan started.

* * *

Wilson knocked on the side of the wall as he entered the room Porscha occupied. "May I come in?"

"Ja," Porscha answered. She'd been reading a book on the cot, so far her only visitor had been LeBeau when he brought her breakfast, and then later when he picked up the dishes. She had to admit he was a fantastic chef.

"Wanted to see how you're feeling," the medic said sitting down next to her.

"Cooped up," she said with a tinge of annoyance.

Wilson nodded his head in sympathy. "Completely understandable. As a prisoner of war, it's a feeling we've all experienced."

"At least you're allowed to walk around outside," she stood moving over a few feet to the door where the guard stood. "I only get this far."

"We're not always able to go outdoors. Many times we're restricted inside for days or weeks. Then there's the cooler, which those rooms are half the size of this room. This really is the VIP room," Wilson watched as understanding dawned for Porscha. She hadn't been exposed to the realities of the men upstairs. "Are you having any side effects of the sedative? Any dizziness, nausea, unusual drowsiness, or headaches?"

"Nein, those wore off yesterday. I slept better than I expect, but then the medication might have contributed," she said sitting back down next to Wilson. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What are trials like in America?" Something about Wilson made her feel as if she could trust him and his replies. Was it because they were both in medicine? She wasn't sure.

"Not an easily answered question. I assume you're wondering if they're different from Germany's current version of trials." Porscha shook her head yes. "In America, everyone on trial is assumed innocent until proven guilty in a court of law."

"Can a person actually be found not guilty?"

"Yes, and trials do sometimes end in the person being set free. Although the way our justice system is setup, a bunch of evidence has to be brought before someone is taking to trial. That helps to eliminate as few innocent people being put through the ordeal as possible."

"I've rarely seen that in Germany. Accusations are enough for anyone to end up on trial or imprisoned. How long do they take?"

"Anywhere from a day to several weeks depending upon the severity of the crime being prosecuted. I remember a few years ago, a really horrendous crime accrued, and the trial took three months to conclude. They realized while going through the evidence that the man on trial was innocent, so he was set free. Didn't make up for everything he'd been put through, but at least he didn't spend the rest of his life in prison," Wilson said.

"The traitor Scott. I know he is in the military, but what was his job?"

"Someone said he was a police officer."

"The trial that Scott is facing. What will it be like?" she asked. Could it truly be different in another country? Her parents and grandparents spoke of a Germany where such things existed before the Fuehrer.

Wilson drew in a deep breath before answering. This was important to Olsen and he wanted to help the sergeant, plus he knew she knew the basics. "As he's in the military, he's trial will be in a military court. He's facing treason, murder for his sister and two police officers, and possible other charges. His sister's dying declaration was that he shot her, because she tried to stop him from coming to Germany with stolen military information. It's a pretty open and shut case, although I'm sure the trial will take a few weeks. No one is convicted of treason or murder without a proper defense. He will have an attorney who will do his best to get Scott off or at least a reduced sentence."

"And if found guilty will he immediately be put to death?" her face clearly concerned.

"Not necessarily. He could be sentenced to death, or imprisoned for life. In American history, a few men convicted of treason were pardoned by the President and set free.** Once all the evidence is heard, and the judges make their decision, then Scott will learn his fate," Wilson answered wondering if the information helped.

Porscha paced around the room. "To murder one's own sibling is unspeakable. However, it's not unusual for the Gestapo to kill their own men in defense of the country."

"Perhaps not here. But the Allies military police are not like the Gestapo. What were the police like before the Gestapo took power?" Wilson asked.

"A safe place to get help if a crime occurred, but not anymore. Sometimes they cause the crimes," she answered forlornly her missing friend flashing in her mind.

"In America, the police are respected. They protect the innocent and arrest criminals. It's unheard of for a police officer to kill another police officer. They're also not judges or juries, those positions are held separate so no one party has complete control of the justice system. Juries are made up of ordinary citizens. People are called to serve on juries as needed in the area they live," he explained.

"Scott is English. Is it the same in England?"

"The law works similarly in England. American law was setup based upon English law with a few changes over the years. I'm not sure of the specifics, but I can have someone from England come by and explain English military law if you like," Wilson answered thinking Newkirk or one of the other Brits was more qualified than him to provide a better explanation.

"No, you've given me enough to think about, thank you," Porscha smiled.

"If you need anything from me, have someone let me know," Wilson said then left hoping he helped.

Porscha paced while thinking through her dilemma. Could trials truly be so different in other countries in this day and age? Her grandfather was a judge before the new order, she knew he didn't approve of the changes made in German law. His moral code forced him out of the bench, at least that's the reason he said. Her parents speaking in hushed tones with other family members said that retiring was the only option, which would allow him to live. When Germany took over a country, the legal system was suspended and replaced with what Germany currently suffered under. If Germany lost the war, what would happen to her home? Would it be bad if Germany lost the war? Would they be rid of the Gestapo? Just thinking the name of that organization made her skin crawl.

Scott was a traitor and being treated as one. His major crime helping Germany win the war, but if she didn't turn in everyone in camp that made her a traitor to her homeland. Should she be treated as a traitor by her people? Right now, she was held prisoner but the question had to be answered. Even if she didn't want to admit to LeBeau, she loved Derrick and could never betray him. Bryan Olsen, an American, he was the enemy; she didn't know him and he was trying turn her into a traitor. She had no loyalty to Olsen.

* * *

* Episode – Don't play cards with strangers

** www dot heritage dot org/constitution/#!/articles/3/essays/120/punishme nt-of-treason


	14. Chapter 14

"Room service leaves a lot to be desired in this joint," Scotty said as Smitty entered the room carrying a tray of food.

"Well, if you don't want it," Smitty stopped mid-stride.

Scotty backed away from the door allowing the guard to open the door. Reynolds took the tray from the officer, and then placed it on the folding table setup in the cell. He backed out of the cell, closing and securing the lock.

"Looks appetizing," Scotty said sarcastically lifting a spoon of oatmeal that resembled mush. He dropped the spoon back into the bowl and took a drink of the coffee. "What no jam for the bread?"

"Didn't know which you'd prefer, orange marmalade, or strawberry jam," Reynolds said rolling his eyes.

"Why don't you take a break," Smitty said to the guard.

"If he gives you any trouble, I'll be close," Reynolds said walking to the back wall leaving the key on the hook.

Once alone, Scotty walked over to the door, "So you think you're a big man around here now." What information could he gain from his dear old friend?

"I'm not the one locked up," Smitty grinned folding his arms across his chest.

"Don't count on it. What did you tell them?" Scott stood with his hands folded on the cross bar of the door. Locked up or not, he had a mission to complete.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I've got a pretty good idea. Still not a fan of the truth, I take it?"

Smitty scrawled moving closer to the door. "Watch your mouth."

"You're the reason Rita's dead," his face grew harder staring at man outside the bars.

"Talk like that will have bad consequences," Smitty said his eyes turning cold.

"Big talk from a…,"

Before Scotty finished his sentence Smitty reached through the bars grabbing a handful of his shirt pulling him forward. "I'd suggest you don't say anything."

"You murdered Rita. Peter's smart, he'll figure it out," Scotty's voice was low ensuring no one overheard.

Smitty jerked Scotty forward knocking his head into the bars. "You've been warned for the last time."

"There's nothing I can do for Rita, except ensure Peter is protected from you," Scotty said as Smitty shoved him backwards. He stumbled, bumping the coffee over spilling it on the ground.

Smitty stormed out of the room not even noticing he nearly knocked Wilson over in the process. Wilson was able to move out of the way saving the cup of coffee he carried. The medic watched the retreating back of the officer, he'd seen that look before on Hogan. Whatever the prisoner had done touched a deep sore spot within Smitty, and he needed space to calm down. Wilson entered the cell room. Scotty was pacing back and forth. He stopped and looked up to see who entered.

"In the habit of pissing off officers?" Wilson asked taking a sip of the coffee.

"It's a pastime," Scotty smirked. He turned back to the split liquid, "Only wish I hadn't lost the coffee."

Wilson reached his left hand into his jacket pocket, picked out a sleeping pill, and then took one last sip of his coffee. With his left hand he took the cup passing it through the bars dropping the pill into the coffee unnoticed. "Have mine. I can get more."

"Why would you do this?" Scotty asked moving over to the bars.

"Like your pastime," Wilson smirked trying to keep his heart rate down. He didn't usually do this type of work, or carry sleeping pills in his pocket. Knowing what was about to happen he was the only person available to ensure the Colonel's plan succeeded.

Scotty laughed taking the cup and drinking a long drink, "Yeah, it can be fun. Wouldn't happen to have anything edible on you?"

"No, had the same crap breakfast myself. Enjoy the coffee," Wilson said turning and leaving before he gave anything away.

Scotty watched Wilson leave wondering if he was someone he could use against Smitty. He sat down, placed the cup on the table, and took a bite of the oatmeal. Although it didn't appear appetizing, the taste wasn't bad. He ate half of the meal, then finished off his coffee. Within a couple of minutes, he realized he'd been drugged. "Ah crap," he fell backwards on the cot.

* * *

Wilson entered the radio room with everyone present. "Colonel, may I speak with you privately for a moment?"

Hogan joined him, "What's up?" He listened as Wilson explained what happened. "I'm impressed."

"Guess, I've picked a couple of things up from everyone," Wilson blushed slightly not sure if it was a good thing or not.

"Smitty told me about the encounter. Do you think Nottington is asleep by now?"

"He should be. Do you mind if I watch? I didn't get to see this stuff work last time, and I'm curious," the medic asked.

Hogan nodded his head and turned to the rest of the group. "Newkirk, do you have the truth serum."

"Yes, sir right here," he held the black box up. "Do you think this will work any better than with Schultz?"

"We'll find out. You're the experienced one, I want you to handle the interrogation," Hogan ordered.

"Sir, I can handle the questions, but I'm not comfortable trying to shoot him up with the stuff. He's not going to lay quietly like Schultz did. Directions specify the subject must be awake," Newkirk said with a plea in his eyes.

"I don't mind doing the injection, but he'll need to be restrained," Wilson said.

"We intend to tie him down, before bringing him around," Kinch said holding up straps, which had been liberated from the Germans.

"Gentlemen, let's do this," Hogan ushered the group towards the cell.

As they entered, Scotty lay on his back with the chained leg bent at the knee and sitting on the floor. Kinch and Carter picked their subject up placing him completely on the cot. Newkirk took two straps securing the traitor's legs so he wouldn't be able to kick the team members, while Carter and Kinch tied two more straps around his upper body. Scotty wouldn't be able to move even his arms with the way the restraints were placed. Wilson sat on the side of the bed checking his patient's arms for a good vein, finding one, he nodded he was ready. LeBeau held a bottle of smelling salts under Scotty's nose until he came around. Instead of removing the container at the first signs of consciousness, he held it there until Scott was fully awake and coughing from the odor.

"What the…" he growled finding out he was completely unable to move and at their mercy. His eyes glared at Smitty, who stood behind Wilson.

"We have some questions to ask you," Hogan said standing at the head of the bed.

"I speak better when not tied up," Scotty said sarcasm rolling off his tongue.

"And we only want truthful answers," Hogan said then nodded at Wilson.

"The coffee you gave me was drugged," Scotty accused Wilson.

"Yep. Got some more drugs for you," he tied a tourniquet around the man's arm.

"What is that? Don't give me anything!" Scotty tighten his arm trying to avoid the injection, but Wilson's practiced hand was quicker. The warmth of the medication filtered up his arm as the room seemed to spin.

"Something to help you relax. Take some nice deep breathes, nothing to worry about," Wilson said watching the man's face relax within a couple of seconds. He moved out of the way letting Newkirk sit down.

Newkirk took out the list of questions the Colonel had written up. "Scotty, can you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Where does Colonel Robin Stephens work?"

"MI-5."

"What does he do there?"

"German agents, makes them turn."

"How do you know?"

"Boss man."

Hogan leaned over whispering into Newkirk's ear. Newkirk nodded his head. "Are you on an assignment for MI5 now?"

"Robyn sent me here."

Everyone in the room looked surprised at the answer. Was Scotty really an MI-5 agent?

"Tell me more about Robin," Newkirk asked.

"Robyn's wild," Scotty smirked.

"How?"

"Anywhere, any time," his face looked like he was remembering a fun memory.

"How did you meet Robin?"

"MI-5 headquarters. Took to each other immediately."

"What do you mean?" Newkirk wasn't sure he liked where this was leading.

"Our eyes meet across the room. Those blue eyes told me all I needed to know. Intrigued, wanted to know more. On the paperwork folder a note said where to meet."

"Where was the meet?"

"Twenty minutes later in the alleyway behind MI5 headquarters."

"What happened at the meet?"

"Paradise."

"Tell me about paradise," Newkirk asked trying to keep him talking.

"Just the beginning of finding out how wild Robyn can be."

"So give. How wild?"

"I was trying to be all casual making sure I didn't misinterpret. Robyn's lips didn't wait for pleasantries. They crushed mine first," Scott said obviously enjoying the memory.

"Gov'nor?" Newkirk looked back at Hogan disbelieving what he was hearing.

"Keep him talking," Hogan ordered.

"What happened next?"

"Robyn likes having it off anywhere dangerous. The more chance of being caught the hotter Robyn gets. Did it up against the building. Pushed Robyn face first against the building while I took care of business. Had to put my hand over Robyn's mouth to stifle the screams of ecstasy. Hottest sex I'd ever had till then. Mild in comparison to some things we'd do as we got to know each other better."

Newkirk's mind was stripped unable to ask another question. He looked over at Hogan's whose mouth was nearly on the floor and eyes larger than Newkirk had ever seen. A quick look around confirmed his suspicion, everyone else was in just as much shock. Poor Carter never looked so confused and terrified of the possibility at the same time. Smitty had sit down on the chair unable to comprehend what he was hearing. LeBeau had gone pale staring at the prisoner. Kinch had a hand over his mouth covering how far his jaw had dropped. Wilson's face was a description in astonishment contorted in ways Newkirk couldn't even begin to describe.

Hogan's mind was reeling, he knew Robin Stephens personally. Been over to the man's house several times. His wife was one of the most beautiful women Hogan had ever met. Why would Robin do anything with a man? How could he have missed this side of his friend? He shook his head to bring himself out of the shock.

"Who told you to steal the documents?" Newkirk asked the next question on the list.

"Robyn and I came up with the idea one night. Robyn had the right contacts to make this happen."

"Make what happen?"

"Me coming to Germany. Robyn sent me an urgent message, we had to meet after I got the documents and all hell broke loose. Met under London's Bridge and had more sex than I thought possible in a night. Knew we wouldn't see each other for a while. Rain fell gently but Robyn didn't seem to notice the cold as our clothes fell on the ground. Couldn't get enough of me. Told me where to bring the documents to microfiche once the sunrise started."

Hogan croaked out, "Where?"

Newkirk understood and turned back to Scotty. "Where did you take the documents to be processed?"

"Waterfront warehouse MI5 uses for storage."

"Where are the original documents?"

"Robyn kept them."

"When did you go to the warehouse?" Newkirk was glad for the change in topic. He was sure he'd been scarred for life by the imagines Scotty had painted in his mind.

"Two days later, same day I left England."

"Who processed the paperwork?"

"Some young lackey Robyn talked into it. Kid had glasses held together by tape. Robyn smiled at him and rubbed his head affectionately. He was hoping for a bonk, but he'd never be able to handle or satisfy a nymph like Robyn. We left him to his work and went to the back of the warehouse for a goodbye that I'll never forget. Robyn….," Scotty smirked not sharing that memory.

Hogan leaned down whispering a question into Newkirk's ear. The Englander nodded his head then asked. "What's Robyn's last name?"

"Stevens."

Newkirk sat back running a hand over his face in disbelief positive the Gov'nor had been right.

"Robyn's body bent in ways I didn't know possible while we waited for the microfiche."

"You mean to tell me you and a Colonel in the Royal Air Force had sex while some kid microfilmed stolen documents?" Newkirk was nearly at his breaking point.

"No," Scotty laughed. "Robyn's not a Colonel."

"You said it was Colonel Robin Stephens," Newkirk was flabbergasted.

"No, he's a stuffy prick. Robyn Steven's is a private who works as a clerk at MI5. She's wilder than you can imagine. I'll send for her once my mission is complete."

Newkirk sat back overwhelmed by relief. He looked up at Hogan, who seemed as relieved as he was. Every team member started coming out of their shock. Carter's eyes were still enlarged. Newkirk was sure Carter had never heard of such tales of a young woman. Later he'd make sure his mate wasn't too traumatized.

"Where's the microfiche?"

"Robyn had a brilliant idea for hiding it."

"Where?" Newkirk pushed.

"With me and safe. No one will ever get to it until I'm ready to give it up," Scott said.

"Gov'nor, he's got it in his clothes!" Newkirk said excitedly.

"We can only hope," Hogan said.

"What do you mean, sir?" Newkirk asked.

"What he means is there is another possibility that no one is looking forward to having to investigate," Smitty said standing up and walking around.

Newkirk went ashen as the other reality sunk in, "_Oh_."

"I don't get it. Where else could the film be hidden?" Carter asked.

"Sometimes spies swallow things to keep them safe. Only one way to retrieve it if that's the case," Smitty said unhappy at the prospect.

"If necessary, I have medication to ensure he evacuates everything," Wilson said not wanting to be a part of search and recovery.

"Let's hope it's in his clothes. Take every stitch off of him and change out the blanket just in case," Hogan ordered.

"Every stitch, sir?" Newkirk's eyebrows shot upwards.

"Unless you'd rather the alternative," Hogan said.

"We'll get the job done, sir," Kinch said hoping to find the film in the clothing.


	15. Chapter 15

"How do we take off his clothes?" LeBeau asked almost afraid of the answer.

"Schultz pretty much did what we told him; when we put him back outside after using the truth serum on him. Once we untie Scotty, shouldn't he act the same?" Carter asked.

"Let's find out," Kinch said as he began removing the ropes.

"Scotty, sit up and take your shirt off," Newkirk instructed once the bindings were removed.

Scott lay unmoving until Newkirk pushed him into a sitting position. He fumbled with his buttons unable to make headway. Kinch pushed his hands away and undid the shirt, while Newkirk helped Scotty to sit. Scotty's head lulled sideways laying on Newkirk's shoulder. The Englander shoved it away, then he and Kinch got the outer shirt off.

"Hold your hands above your head," Newkirk said as they removed the undershirt. Scott compiled the best he was able.

Kinch took off the prisoner's boots and socks. "Now stand up and take off your pants." Scott stood, but had trouble unbuttoning his pants, so Kinch helped. Scott was finally able to remove his pants. "Take the long johns off too."

About halfway through removing his long johns, Scott stopped trembling, "Cold in here."

"I don't care. Get those off!" Newkirk was cross. Scotty obeyed. Next he removed his boxers and stood shivering.

"Let's get these on him," Wilson said handing Newkirk clothing from their extras collected from airmen passing through the traveler's aide society. They redressed the traitor and let him fall back onto the cot.

Kinch gathered the clothing, placing it on the blanket, and bundling it into a small parcel. "The sewing room is the best place to do this." The other men agreed as they left and locked the cell.

Arriving at the sewing room, Kinch spread the clothes out on the table. "Everyone take something and rip apart every single seam. I don't want to hear you didn't find the film."

Newkirk handed out seam rippers to everyone and then grabbed Scotty's jacket.

"He had us going for a few minutes," Kinch said as he began removing the seam around the shirt collar.

"Sacre chat! I thought for sure he meant that Colonel Stephens was a….." LeBeau used his hands to animating the rest of his statement.

"I don't understand how a man could be with a man like that," Carter said. "I mean the body parts are all wrong."

"You're absolutely right," Kinch replied before anyone enlightened the young naïve sergeant. The look he gave the others was to tread lightly, because Carter didn't need to lose his innocence over Scotty's misunderstood remarks.

"But I couldn't figure out what he was trying to tell us," Carter continued.

"I don't think any of us could, mate, that's why everyone looked so shocked," Newkirk answered.

"To find out he was talking about his girl made sense, but I've never heard of a young lady doing those things," Carter said. "Do you think he was lying?"

"She was no lady," LeBeau laughed. Even if she was a traitor, Robyn would fuel his daydreams for a long time.

"Andrew, some women aren't nice ladies. And they can be rather wild," Newkirk said wondering how to change the topic.

"I'm not dumb. I know not everyone is as nice as Mary Jane," Carter defended himself.

"No one thinks you are," Wilson said watching the men tear through the clothing. "Why couldn't we get him off his favorite topic?"

"Because it was his favorite topic. Same thing happened to Schultz. All he'd talk about was food and the kitchen," LeBeau answered.

"We thought he was talking about the experiments because he kept going on about aluminum. To learn it was bloody aluminum pots and pans!" Newkirk said. "If you had a bird like 'is, wouldn't she be your favorite subject?" His mind wondered back to Ginger* who seemed rather boring in comparison.

Wilson shrugged his shoulders with a knowing grin.

"The medication worked identical in both of them," Kinch said.

"How's it going?" Hogan asked as he and Smitty entered the sewing room. Both officers' faces shown concern.

"We're still searching sir," Kinch said.

"Keep me informed. I'm going to speak with Porscha," Hogan ordered as he left. Smitty picked up a piece of clothing helping the men search.

Hogan walked through the tunnels hoping Porscha convinced him she was trustworthy. At this point, he had no choice but to send her to an Allied POW camp and the decision would be final no matter how Olsen protested. The safety of his men came first. _The good of the many_ popped into his mind. But however true, the decision didn't sit well with him. He didn't have the energy right now to figure out how to deal with Olsen. The poor man had been through hell a few months ago when some damn scientist cut off his arm**, and Porscha was how Olsen got through what would have destroyed most men. Unable to find the culprits still left a bad feeling in his gut wondering if those bastards were lurking around the corner every time anyone went outside the wire.

Entering Porscha's room, Hogan dismissed the guard. He found her sitting curled up on the cot looking thoughtful. "Hello, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Colonel Robert Hogan."

She uncurled her legs from underneath her and sat up straight holding her hand out to shake the colonel's. "I'm Porscha Herz."

"Sorry, I haven't been able to come before now. Been a bit busy. Wanted to see how you were doing," Hogan shook her hand then took a seat in the chair across from the young lady.

"You're in charge of the men?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

Porscha nodded her head understanding Hogan held her future in his hands. He would make the final decision about her fate. "This ordeal has been frightening."

"I'm sure it has. Olsen made you a promise that you'd be safe. I will ensure that promise is kept. You're in no danger," Hogan answered with a gentle smile trying to put her at ease.

"Safe doesn't necessarily mean that I can go home," she deadpanned him.

"Let's take this slow and see how it works out. How do you feel about what you've learned?" he asked sitting back.

"A bit overwhelmed. To learn of the danger Derrick was in every time we were together is terrifying. Then to learn his name isn't even Derrick, nor is he German," she looked down toward the cot.

"How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know," the honesty of her reply revealed on her face and voice.

"I can respect that answer. How do you feel about Derrick?"

"I love Derrick. I just don't know about Bryan. With Derrick everything was simple. We met, fell in love, and I could see a future for us, marriage, raising a family here in Hammelburg. Bryan changes everything," for a second her eyes glistened with moisture until she blinked them away taking a deep breath.

"How does that change?" Hogan resisted the urge to reach out and take her hand. She wasn't comfortable with him yet, and he didn't want to overstep his boundaries.

"Bryan's family is in America. America is a whole world away. I've never been more than a hundred kilometers away from Hammelburg. I can't imagine living without my family close. How could we raise children without the older generations lending their help? His family in America naturally would ask the same question. The impossibility of the logistics makes my head spin," she answered.

Hogan smiled gently, Porscha worrying about where they'd raise their children told him where her heart stood on the subject. "Bryan lived most of his life here in Germany and has many friends in the area. His family only left Germany because of the political shift. Have you spoken with him about where he'd want to raise a family?" Porscha bit her lower lip shaking her head no. "Have you ever seen the ocean?"

"No."

"Do you have any desire to see it?"

She thought for a moment before answering, "Ja, I've dreamed about seeing the ocean."

"So you're not opposed to travel?"

"Nein," Porscha said.

"Have you and Bryan spoken about the possibility of his family coming back to Germany once the war is over?"

Although she'd tried to speak with Bryan, they found any conversation difficult. "We haven't gotten far in our discussions."

Her answers were truthful and accurate, and the same information Olsen had told Hogan, making Hogan's decision easier when the time came. He wouldn't have to second guess where she stood on the issue of the safety of his men. "What is the most difficult part for you?"

She took a deep breath blowing it out uneasily before answering. "If I stay with Bryan, then I become a traitor to my country. Why should I be treated any different than Scott is being treated?"

Hogan nodded his head. "What do you think should happen?"

"By now my family believes the Gestapo have taken me away. So showing up, they're going to want answers. They have no love for Hitler or his henchmen, but they love me. At first they will be gentle, but eventually they will want answers so to ensure my safety. I can't imagine lying to them and they would see through the lies. They love Derrick, but if the choice was either him or me, they'd choose me. I don't know what to say to them. My Mutter und Schwester are my closest confidants and I wish I could discuss this with them. I want to go home," Porscha's hands trembling as she tried to stop the nervous tick.

"Unfortunately, you'll not be able to discuss any of this with your mother and sister, until the Allies win the war. But there are people here who can help you process everything," Hogan said.

"Louis is a delightful little man and so full of passion. I can see why he and Derrick are such good friends. It's hard to discuss some things with Derrick, but I will continue to try. Joe…even though we don't know each other, I'm comfortable talking with him," Porscha said.

"An astute description of my men. Joe naturally makes people feel comfortable. He's someone I confide in and you're in good hands with him. I'm also available to talk. May I suggest you and Bryan spend as much time together as possible? I'll make sure Joe is around too. Do you have any questions for me?" Hogan asked.

"Nein, nicht jetz. Thank you for coming by," Porscha said as Hogan stood to leave.

* * *

Hogan walked back to the sewing room. "How's it going fellas?"

"We haven't found the film, sir," Kinch said, the defeated look on his face answering clearer than his words.

"Have you checked everything including the blanket?" Hogan asked.

"Oui, mon Colonel, we have," LeBeau tossed the undershirt he'd been tearing apart on the table.

"Can you think of anything we haven't done?"

"No, sir," Smitty answered. The other men shook their heads in agreement.

"Well gentlemen, that only leaves me only one option. I need a volunteer," Hogan said.

Everyone looked away. Carter clamped both hands over his mouth to ensure no sound came out as he looked fastidiously at the ground. Kinch found a spot on the far wall and stared at it as if his life depended upon it. Smitty put both hands in his pocket, and in his mind began replaying one of his favorite baseball games. Wilson, an expert at remaining silent and still so not to disturb sleeping patients, continued to sit on the stool unmoving. LeBeau turned to face Newkirk carefully closing his mouth. Newkirk lowered his eyes from LeBeau to the table of ripped apart clothing.

"So that's how it's going to be?" Hogan asked not surprised. No one wanted this duty, whom was he going to pick? Maybe his best option was to have everyone rotate through the assignment in pairs.

"Hold on a sec," Newkirk said as he reached for Scotty's pants. "We missed something." He held the pants in his left hand as his right took the seam ripper to the flap, which covered the zipper. A few tense seconds later, he held the microfiche up for all to see with a grin on his face.

"I…I never thought of there!" Carter exclaimed. Newkirk hit him playfully with his cover as everyman sighed in utter overwhelming relief.

"Figures, we should have thought to look there," LeBeau said.

"Why?" Carter asked with confusion showing.

"He said Robyn picked the hiding spot. That girl has a one track mind," LeBeau answered.

"Good job," Hogan said taking the microfiche. Although he was curious, he handed them to Smitty for safe keeping without reviewing it.

"Oh boy, I can't wait to read what's on the film!" Carter said with a huge grin.

"What we don't know, we can't tell. No one is reading those orders. Kinch, when London is available, ask them what to do. Do they want us to destroy them?" Hogan ordered.

"They'll be on in a few minutes. I'll go warm the tubes up," Kinch said as he left to attend his radio.

"I'll join you," Hogan said following the radioman.

"I think I'm going to check on the prisoner. Curious how this stuff is still affecting him," Wilson said standing up.

"I'll come with you," Carter said hoping if he put time and distance between him and the rest of the crew, the inevitable teasing for missing the film wouldn't be as harsh. The medic sometimes teased too, but he understood when to stop where Newkirk and LeBeau didn't. For what he nearly put the team through, Carter felt horrible.

When the pair entered the cell room, the guard opened the door to allow them entrance. Scotty lay on his back half on and half off the cot. Out of habit, Wilson began straightening Scotty out on the cot. Between the sedative and the truth serum, Scotty was still under their effects and not coherent. Wilson was unsure how long that would last.

"Peter…," Scotty mumbled something else unintelligible.

"What about Peter?" Carter asked.

"In danger."

"How? Talk louder," Carter ordered.

"Smitty killed Rita. He'll kill Peter when he figures it out. Gotta protect Peter."

* * *

* D-Day at Stalag 13

** My story - When Zucchini Attacks


End file.
